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| Strange Friendships - By Gilthas |
The Orcish warrior
stopped and listened, sure he had heard something in the woods
ahead. He crouched in the dirt and waited. There it was again!
Grunting in satisfaction, the Orc hefted his battle-axe and
crept forward. Moving behind a thick bush, the Orc parted the
foliage with a hairy paw.
Peering through the leaves, he spotted a camp nestled within a
small glade a short distance away.
A tent had been pitched and a fire built, an old iron pot hung
suspended over the flames. Looking around, he spotted the camp’s
lone occupant: a human knight.
As he watched, the Knight moved about the camp, his sword
clinking on his thigh as he walked. Approaching a woodpile, the
man gathered several logs and tossed them on the fire pit in the
center of the camp. Walking to the fire, he dropped several
things he’d removed from his pack into the pot, stirring the
contents with a wooden spoon. Sighing, the Knight appeared to
spot something off in the brush and trudged off after it.
Thinking about how long it had been since he’d eaten, the Orc
looked once again to the fire pit in the camp, and the bubbling
pot suspended over it. Pondering a moment, he decided upon his
course of action. Gripping his axe, he began to rise, only to
feel the sharp point of steel against the back of his neck.
“So, what were you doing watching my camp, Orc?” the Knight
questioned, pushing the brute to the ground with the heel of his
boot and kicking away his axe. “You’re a long way from home.”
“Lost” the Orc muttered, turning to sit on his haunches.
“Hungry. No want fight. Just food.”
The Knight frowned. “Planned to steal my food while I was away,
did you?” he asked, leaning up against a nearby tree. Staring at
the Orc, the knight furrowed his brow in thought, as if weighing
his choices.
“What you thinkin’?” the Orc asked. “Goin ta kill me?” For the
first time, the Knight could hear a slight quiver of fear in the
brute’s voice. After several moments, the Knight spoke.
“No, I’m not going to kill you,” he stated flatly, “stand up.
Walk.” Prodding the Orc gently with the tip of his sword, the
Knight ushered him back towards the camp.
Reaching their destination, the man motioned for the Orc to sit
on a log near the fire. “Now don’t think about escaping back
into the woods,” he said, and disappeared into his tent,
immerging seconds later with two wooden bowls, and two spoons.
The Orc stared at him, puzzled. “Why you need two bowls?” he
asked. “Hungry?”
“No, the second bowl is for you,” the knight said, tossing the
bowl and spoon at the Orc and pointing at the pot of stew
simmering over the fire.
“No trick?” the Orc asked, still apprehensive about trusting the
human. “You really give food?”
“Yes, take your fill,” indicating the pot with a motion of his
hand. “But be sure to leave some for me,” he added with a slight
grin.
Looking at him once more, the Orc fell to scooping out ladlefuls
of the stew into his bowl. Then, with a sigh of delight, he
placed the edge of the wooden bowl to his lips and gulped down
is steaming contents.
Loading a bowl for himself, the Knight sat back and began on his
own meal, watching as his newfound camp mate devoured another
helping of his own.
Finally, looking up at the human, the Orc grunted. “Good.” He
stopped, looking at the dirt for a moment, and then returned to
staring at the man, “but why you no kill me?”
“I thought you’d be curious about that,” the Knight returned.
“I’ll tell you. You and I, my strange companion, are in the same
situation.”
Grunting in confusion, the Orc stared at the Knight with a
questioning look. “We both hungry?” he asked.
Chuckling, the Knight spoke again. “No. We’re both lost until
our comrade’s find us. I too, became lost after I was separated
from my column. Instead of making my situation worse, I decided
to stay here and wait for a rescue party. When I found you and
listened to your story, I decided that it would be in our mutual
advantage to work together until the time comes that we are
found. Let us hope, however, that whomever finds us first will
be understanding of the other race.”
“What you mean by that?”
The Knight’s face darkened, “Nothing,” he amended hastily.
“I suppose I be friend,” grunted the Orc after a moment of
thought. “Until rescued.”
“Wonderful!” chortled the Knight. “Now, would you mind using
that axe of yours there to chop some wood? Oh, you never told me
your name.”
Hefting his axe, the Orc turned around and looked at the human.
“Rukk,” he said. “Name is Rukk.” Turning once again, he began to
walk towards the trees, and then stopped. “What be your name?”
he asked the Knight.
“I am called Michael.” Turning his back to the Orc, he walked
over to set up a portion of the camp for his new companion.
Days passed. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.
During this time, their strange friendship became stronger. They
were an odd combination; Man and Orc, but they worked together,
and even shared tales of their past, their homes, families, and
cultures.
Five months later, they found themselves once again around the
fire pit, ladling soup into wooden bowls. Remembering their
first encounter, Michael chuckled.
“What so funny?” asked Rukk, glancing up from his bowl.
“Nothing, my friend. Memories of our first meeting.” Scooping a
spoonful of the meaty broth into his mouth, he leaned back unto
a tree and ate.
Looking up over the fire at the human, the Orc spoke. “You been
a good friend to Rukk. Never met a nice human.” Rukk bared a
toothy grin.
Smiling, Michael offered his thanks and finished his food.
Standing up, he took Rukk’s empty bowl as well as his own and
their few meager utensils down to a nearby creek to wash them.
As he walked, he hummed an old marching song that he’d learned
when he was a child.
Stopping at the edge of the creek, he knelt down and began to
vigorously scrub the wooden bowls with a small rag. All the
while he wondered how times could have changed so much that an
orc and a human could co-exist peacefully like he and Rukk had.
Pondering this, he stood and began his walk back to camp.
Rounding a corner, Michael heard a scream. Not the scream of a
trapped maiden, or the scream of a frightened child, but the
scream of battle. Rukk. Breaking into a run, he reached camp in
time to see Rukk engaged with two Knights. Shrieking for them to
stop, Michael ran into the camp, but he was too late.
Overpowering the Orc two to one, one of the Knights drove his
blade into Rukk’s abdomen. Groaning in pain, Michael’s companion
for those long months collapsed in a pool of blood at his
attacker’s feet. As Michael approached, Rukk made a last effort
to gaze at his odd friend. Baring a toothy smile, Rukk closed
his eyes and drew his last breath.
“Michael!” called one of the Knights. Removing his helmet and
wiping the blood from his sword, the newcomer approached his old
friend while the other Knight surveyed the camp.
“Jared...I...he...you,” Michael stammered, then collapsed to his
knees.
“We’ve been looking for you for ages man! I can’t believe you
were lost, but I cannot believe that we found you, either! Why
so glum? That beast over there was obviously going to steal
everything from your camp while you were away! You’re lucky we
came when we did.”
“No!” Michael wailed. Babbling incoherently, he stared at Rukk’s
body.
“Now, now, my friend. You’ve been through a lot these past five
months I’d wager. Come, let us take you back to our camp and
then, tomorrow, we’ll make our way back to New Stormwind and
we’ll have a feast in celebration of your return. If I remember
correctly, there was a young woman who was eager for your
return!” Jared winked, helping Michael stand.
“We must build a funeral pyre for him.” Michael whispered. “He
deserves a proper funeral.”
“Proper! Pah!” scoffed Jared. “That, that…thing was an Orc. It
should be left to the wolves! In fact I-“ Glancing at his friend
as he spoke, Jared saw such an intense look of anger upon
Michael’s face that he reconsidered his words. “Aye, well,
perhaps a proper funeral would be…appropriate.”
An hour later darkness fell; Michael ordered Jared and his
companion back to their camp after they had finished work on the
pyre. “I’ll find it. Leave markers behind as you travel back, I
will retrieve them as I go. Thank you for your help.”
“Aye, Michael. We’ll go. But before we do, I’d like to ask a
question.”
“What?” demanded Michael in a flattened tone.
“Why did you care so much for this creature?” Seeing a flash of
emotion cross Michael’s face, he suddenly knew.
“He was…my friend,” murmured the Knight.
Nodding, Jared left, the younger Knight behind him. When he
reached a safe distance, the younger Knight spoke.
“Surely he’s daft! An Orc!”
“No, I’ve known Michael for many years,” Jared returned, “and I
saw his face. He’s not crazy. He spoke the truth.”
“What a strange friendship,” mused the younger man, louder than
he’d intended.
“Aye, strange indeed. I am ashamed of what I did, but how could
I have known? Strange indeed. Strange indeed…” After a moment,
he spoke again. “But, I do know this: for once in my many years,
I know of a man and an orc who truly understood each other.”
As they walked on, Michael bore the body of his friend to the
pyre. Lighting a torch, he raised it above his head. Glittering
in the moonlight, a single tear streaked down the Knight’s face.
Wiping his free hand across his face, he flung the torch onto
the pyre, setting it ablaze.
Staring at the inferno a moment longer, he turned and walked
into the night. His head bowed, he whispered, “Perhaps one day,
we shall meet again. Where ever you are my friend, I hope you
can understand.”
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