Moktark’s belly let out a loud rumble. Koruk didn’t feel much better. The plan had been to restock their food supplies in Zernthod, trading work or trinkets for it. Given that the road ahead of them now seemed far longer than expected, they had decided to ration out the remaining supplies, and morale was suffering. Although nobody was outwardly complaining, yet, Koruk could see the strain on the faces of his companions.

  So it was that they learned from a passing merchant of a nearby settlement to the north, there were no complaints about taking a detour. Koruk told himself that maybe they could trade there for some supplies, but in his heart of hearts he knew better. To the north was Beast Tamer territory.

  Smoke wafted up through the rafters of the hut down in the valley. From their position on the ridge, The party could see several figures walking around, tending to livestock. The sun was setting over the horizon, and the ranchers were leading their animals back to a large pen set up alongside the hut. In the distance further north was another village, consisting of some dozen odd buildings behind a stake wall, reminding Koruk of Wit’thod. Somewhere in that village, maybe another fisherorc was bringing in his catch for the day, saying hello to his own version of Runerg the gate guard.

  “We could talk to them.” Koruk said, looking over at Moktark. The big warrior’s jaw was set. He took awhile before responding.

  “Tamers don’t trade with White Moons little brother.”

  “We sneak in, take a goat, and leave then. It wouldn’t do us any good to get into a fight here.”

  Moktark nodded, but he gripped the half of his warclub tightly. Absentmindedly, he pawed at the fresh pink scar on his face.

  “Yeah.”

  Koruk glanced at Oben. The human’s face was passive. Unreadable. His body language was relaxed. He had expected the small man to be frightened. Koruk found himself envious of his composure, and then momentarily embarrassed as he realized that he was frightened. He had never been on a livestock raid before. The fact that even the tiny human was relaxed heightened his embarrassment, and made him angry.

  A rough hand clapped onto his shoulder, shaking him loose from his thoughts. Moktark’s eyes bored into his.

  “You’ll be alright little brother. In and out, like you said.” Moktark said. He flashed a strained grin. Koruk couldn’t return it, and just nodded.

  After darkness fell, the three of them emerged from their hiding place, and stalked toward the farm, keeping low under the bushes and shrubbery. The residents must have gone to bed, because they saw no one. Not even a night watch.

  “Coast is clear, go, go!” Moktark whispered, and the three of them sprinted out of cover towards the goat pen. Koruk’s heart pounded in his chest.

  A challenging voice hollered at them. An older orc stood off to the side, brandishing a long spear. Koruk felt his heartbeat slow as his perception of time seemed to compress.

  “Get the animals!” Moktark shouted, all pretense of stealth quickly evaporating. He charged at the sentry with a howl, swinging his club over his head.

  Oben slammed into the gate of the pen and started fumbling with the latch. Why didn’t I see him? Koruk thought, as he climbed over the fence and started lashing a rope around one of the goats. He was right there and I didn’t see him!

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  Moktark’s opponent fell in a heap as he was easily dispatched. Koruk could hear shouting inside the hut. The goats were scared, and making things difficult. Finally Oben swung the gate open, and most of the animals charged out of the pen into the field.

  An unfamiliar voice challenged Koruk from the other side of the fence. He hastily dropped the goat, unslung his bow, and nocked an arrow. It was only after he had drawn the bow back to his shoulder and swung it in the direction of the voice that he realized it was the voice of a child. A last second twitch of his shoulder sent the arrow flying wide, and the child scampering away in terror.

  Moktark ran over. Oben had managed to grab onto the goat that Koruk let go and bear it to the ground. Koruk stood in shock, still clutching his bow. He felt weak in the knees.

  “Come on. They’re running back to the village to get help! Grab anything you can carry and lets go little brother! Drake, get that goat tied down!” Moktark shouted excitedly.

  Koruk followed Moktark into the hut, the two of them began overturning the building, throwing anything that looked valuable into a blanket. They weren’t picky. Dried food, tools, clothing, furs, pots, anything they could grab in a hurry. Koruk closed the blanket up and tied it, hoisting it over his shoulder. Moktark was stuffing furs under one arm when he suddenly dropped them and grabbed a small leather bag off a table. It jingled of money.

  “Oh yeah, here’s the booty!” He beamed. He opened the bag and started flicking through its contents with a thick finger.

  “Forget that Moktark, just grab it and let’s get out of here!”

  Moktark grunted and shoved the bag into a belt pouch. He awkwardly shouldered the furs, and his shield and they made to exit.

  “We should burn what we don’t take. Teach those tamer bastards to mess with the White Moons!” Moktark roared, kicking the front door of the hut off its hinges.

  Koruk looked around the ravaged farm. He thought about the child he had nearly killed. The idyllic little world he helped to shatter.

  “There’s no time, come on, they’ll be coming soon.” He said, and turned to leave with his sack of loot. Moktark grunted and followed, waving to Oben to bring the goat.

  It took them the better part of the night to get back to where they had stashed the travois. At last they slumped down and caught their breath. Dawn’s light was breaking, and the adrenaline that had kept Koruk up all night was fading away into a deep feeling of weariness.

  Moktark was excitedly sorting through the loot they had obtained, oblivious to anything else. Oben was breathing hard, and laid spread eagle upon the ground. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He was too tired.

  “That was a good raid little brother. It went well.” Moktark beamed, prying open a jar filled with some sort of pungent yellow gunk. He dipped a finger into it and licked it, making a strange face as he did so.

  “There was just an old orc, women and children there. There was no honour in that fight.” Koruk said, staring up at the sky. Was that what was wrong? No, it was something else.

  “The men are off fighting to the north. Raiding our farms and villages probably. They deserved this, make no mistake. Here, try this.” Moktark said, sticking the pot in front of Koruk’s nose. Koruk recoiled at the smell.

  “What is it?”

  “Beats me.”

  “It cheese.” Oben said absently. Koruk looked at him, and it clicked.

  “Keeze? What’s that?” Moktark replied, eating a bit more. “It’s good.”

  As Oben explained the process of making cheese from milk, Moktark’s face took on a sour expression. He stared at the jar in dismay.

  Koruk watched the pair. During the battle, Moktark had been his usual self, really. Energetic, impulsive, commanding. Good traits in a warrior. Koruk himself had reacted with bumbling fear and caution. Again expected.

  Oben had changed. The formerly and currently meek, harmless little man, was as firm and collected as a stone during the battle. Completely emotionless and callous. The look on his face had been the same as if he were having breakfast. As if he had done it a thousand thousand times.

  Oben laughed as Moktark hastily stuck the lid back on the jar, and began spitting dramatically on the ground and retching. Koruk wondered what was hiding behind that laugh.