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It was very dark in the Stonetalon Mountains that night; both moons were invisible, and even the stars were mostly hidden by a thick veil of clouds. The a****ls, unaccustomed to the total darkness, were eerily quiet and still, all a little confused and hesitant.
All but one; unlike most of the other a****ls, this one was advancing through the woods, slowly but surely. He had been tracking his prey for hours now, and he wasn't going to let darkness and silence stop him. After all, his prey could easily turn around and become the predator if he broke the hunt. Cautiously, he checked the tracks again; they felt fresher. He was getting closer; in fact, he was sure that the b**st was over the next ridge.
Garad readied his bow. He pushed his shaggy black hair out of his eyes again, and started walking away, his leather foot-pads making his advance as silent as humanly possible. He was a hunter; not in the sense that he was spiritually in tune with nature, but in the sense that he had a keen understanding of the way the wild world worked, and used this to his benefit.
Otherwise, though, he was an average human in most senses of the word; tanned only by virtue of his outdoor lifestyle, muscular only to the extent that he could pick up, toss around and carry his prey around once he had killed it, cunning only because he needed to outsmart the more intelligent of the b**sts that roamed this world.
Just as, now, he was tracking a panther through the wilds. They usually stayed in the basin that was high in the mountains, Stonetalon Peak. This one, however, had come south to hunt goblins and the Horde; when Garad had started tracking him earlier this afternoon, the thing that had caught his interest was a mangled troll body. It was a pity; he would have preferred it to be a goblin that had met the claws of the cat that day, but what was done was done, and now he was hunting the cat, for sport more then anything.
That was what he was telling himself when he cleared the next ridge at a snail's pace, and suddenly spotted the b**st. It was dark black, with a bluish hue to it, and paler spots marked its back. Its tail was waving back and forth in that manner that cat's tails so often did when they were pleased. And it was staring, intently, ravenously – not at him, but at something behind a large boulder in the ground. The cat, he realised, was hunting something else. And yet, surely it had had enough with the troll?
The wind – though it was about as windy as a rabbit's breathing – was in his favour, and the a****l was distracted by its own hunt enough that he was unnoticed. However, he knew full well that if he began to pull the arrow back, the a****l would sense it. He didn't know how, but they always did. He was too close – closer then he had thought he was.
So he waited, frozen, his muscles tensed to keep himself from moving too much. He would wait until the panther was ready to pounce, and catch it in the act. Whatever was being hunted would run away – it probably wasn't anything more interesting than a deer of sorts, not worth hunting down. Predators were always more interesting, or at least more dangerous.
And so he waited. The cat also was still; a low, quiet rumbling was emanating from its throat. He wondered, quietly, why the damned b**st didn't just jump.
Then, all of a sudden, it shuffled its back feet around ever so slightly, raising its backside into the air a tiny bit. It was all Garad needed, though, to know that it was going to pounce in a few instants. Slowly, his arrow was fitted to his bow; as the big cat drew itself back to strike, he drew his arrow back to do the same. Then, with a roar, the panther leapt –
And there was a scream. Garad was startled; his arrow went awry. It still struck the panther, but in its hind leg rather then its heart. The force of the bolt sent the a****l into a spin, and it cried out in surprise, batting the dart out of its flesh with its front paw. Garad stood there stupidly, his senses taking a good moment to come back to him. By then, though, the b**st was running away.
He ran up to the spot where it had stood, and checked the bloodied grass; the wound looked somewhat serious, but it certainly wouldn't prove fatal, even for a wild a****l. It would just be an inconvenience for a few days, a week at best. He turned instead to look at what – or who – had screamed.
At first he didn't see anybody. There was a leather pack, a couple of javelins, a burnt-out fire and a set of studded leather armour set up against the rock. What the cat had been hunting became clear only a few moments later, when he noticed that the rock wasn't exactly a rock – part of is was, but the other part appeared to be a sort of cloth, carefully crafted to look like stone.
His prey gone, he decided to take a look at what there was here… perhaps a wounded traveller he could extract money from. A Hordeling? Another wandering human? He had no idea who it could be. Glancing at the armour, he noted that it seemed to be made for a female; a slight grin spread across his face.
That grin faded, though, when he tugged the stony cloth aside, and answered by a green fist flying into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He staggered backwards to catch his breath; his head was facing the ground, and he didn't see his opponent approach and bash him on the shins. The pain was sudden, and he fell to the ground; immediately, he was kicked in the chest, and his opponent leaped on him. She pinned his arms down, and her legs clenched around his chest, as though she were trying to crush him.
Looking up, he finally saw the cat's prey, face-to-face. And he had to admit, he wasn't surprised at being beat by a woman so easily, since this one was an orc.
She stared at him, panting only a little. Her skin looked surprisingly smooth, for an orc's, and her tusks were tiny, barely more then large teeth. Her hair was blacker then the night sky, and her eyes – well, the scowl that was on her face wasn't flattering, but she had blazing sapphire eyes that would have added intensity to any emotion on her face.
Right now, that emotion was frustration, if he read her well. She raised her hand and, without warning, slapped him hard across the face, dragging her nails across his cheek. Then she started jabbering in Orcish – he didn't know a word of it, and he had no idea what she could be saying to him. He had just chased away a b**st that was going to eat her, hadn't he?
After a few minutes, she paused. He decided to take his chances.
"Er, I don't speak Orcish," he started. "But could you get off?"
He flapped his hands up and down, miming her getting off him. She caught on quickly, and slapped him again. Then, seemingly distracted, she leaned over and pulled her bag of things closer, rummaging through it. She was wearing a sort of – well, it was like thin leather armour, but the front neatly cupped her breasts, and the back wasn't very substantial. Not a bra, though; it covered her torso below her breasts, and was fastened there with a set of straps on the back. He assumed it served the same purpose, though he didn't give it much thought.
The orc's skin was the green of young, verdant grass, and he could see clearly defined muscles around her the exposed part of her body. This orc was fit – though not built up enough to deprive her of her femininity, which he found a bit odd. Orcs were not known for being feminine.
Suddenly, she shuffled a little lower on his body, and grinned at him. For a split second he was hoping she had something kinky in mind, but those hopes died when she shoved a dagger at his throat. Great; this was going well.
She slowly got off, the dagger cold against his neck; she backed away, pointed at the ground, and mimed sleeping. When he hesitated, she spat something in Orcish, which didn't help in the least. He knew what she wanted, but he wasn't about to go to sleep next to a dagger-wielding orc, female or not.
"What for?" he asked, realising the uselessness of the thing as he did. Instead, he mimed her cutting his throat. She looked puzzled, and then shrugged, patting her stomach; unless he was seeing things, she expected him to believe that she wouldn't kill him because she wasn't hungry.
"Do you really eat people?" he said, miming it.
She growled, shook her head and pointed at the ground, again miming for him to sleep. He decided he would have too – after all, that dagger was still at his throat. She gave him no chance to get his things. So he lay down, looked up at her, and waited. She didn't move any more then removing the dagger from direct contact with his skin – though it was still a finger's width away.
"You expect me to sleep like this?"
She cocked her eyebrow and waited. He sighed, and gave up. He'd be gone tomorrow morning, if he was still alive. If not, there wasn't anything he could do about it. So, somehow, after a long while just staring at her, he managed to fall asleep.
*****
He woke up rather early; the sun was just coming up. He looked around; the she-orc was nowhere to be seen. He slowly got up, hoping that she was far enough away for him to make his escape. He turned over, reached for his things –
And a dead rabbit hit him square in the face.
He jerked away from it, not recognizing it at first. When he did, he picked the bloodied little creature up, and stared at it. The orc was sitting four feet away, two other rabbits in her hands. One of them had obviously evaded the bow, and she had felt it necessary to attempt the kill with her javelin. The result was not pretty, though she seemed positively gleeful as she tore the skin off to cook it. If he hadn't been used to doing that himself, Garad would probably have been sick.
The orc, for her part, was already in her armour. This armour covered the tops of her breasts quite well, so he was deprived of the pleasant sight. Her legs were bare only on the sides of her patchy leather pants, and she wore thick, hairy wrist guards that looked to be made of wyvern fur.
More importantly, she didn't have a dagger to his neck.
He sat up slowly, and tossed the rabbit back at her. She grabbed it, neatly tore the skin off, and set it to cook next to the others. He looked at his hands; they were a little bloodied, but he didn't really care. He advanced calmly towards the fire to grab one of the rabbits, but his host – at least, that's what he decided she was – smacked his hand away, muttering something.
He noticed that she had a piercing as well – humans disdained from them, as a rule, but the orc's face actually looked a little cuter with a small bone poking through one side of her nose. And she noticed his staring. Her brows furrowed, and she grunted a clear, what-are-you-looking-at sort of question.
"Your bone, uh, thing," he faltered. She looked at him quizzically.
He reached his finger out to point at it, in a gesture he would ultimately be very, very happy to have made.
His bloodied index approached her apprehensive face, and poked the bone. She sniffed his finger a little, and a look of profound happiness washed over her face; he started. Had he given her some sort of compliment?
Perhaps not. She moved her face forward a little, her eyes closing sleepily… and bit his finger hard.
"Ouch! Damn it!" he cried out, pulling his hand back. She jumped, surprised at his pain. He glared at her, but saw something like apology in her eyes, and was disconcerted. So orcs bit each other's fingers… and that was a good thing?
He tried again. Perhaps this was something of a trust ritual – maybe it meant she wouldn't kill him? He cautiously extended the same finger, and she stared this time, before leaning over and gently nibbling it, a thoroughly pleased look on her face. He was perplexed. It wasn't an unfamiliar expression to him, even on human females, but…
Abruptly, she pulled back, and returned to the rabbits, poking them about with a smile. He eyed her, something exciting brewing inside him. Her green skin was like young leaves, tender and dewy. He suddenly had a longing to reach over and touch her arm; he supposed that he could do that, and extended his clean hand to gently stroke her upper arm.
She swung around and batted his hand away, a look of mixed amusement and annoyance on her face. She grunted something while looking straight at him, paused, and then pulled the rabbits out of the fire. They were well cooked; this orc knew what she was doing.
For some reason, he decided that introductions would be necessary… certainly if his impressions about her finger-biting were correct. Catching her attention, he pointed at himself and said, "Garad."
"Jeshka," she replied, doing the same. She handed him a rabbit, and took another for herself, eating it ravenously. He took a little more time, but she did nothing with the third rabbit. When he was done, she waggled it in front of his face like bait – and then hurled it into the woods.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded as he watched the piece of perfectly good food fly through the trees. He turned back to look at her, and found her grinning, and kneeling as though she were about to start a race.
"Mok gorok, korin kufa nagren."
"What?"
She pointed at the two of them, and essentially conveyed her message; she wanted the two of them to run after the rabbit, get it, and bring it back. She seemed to want it to be a race.
"Whoever gets the rabbit back here wins; is that it?"
She shrugged, and motioned for him to follow. Jeshka; he was already starting to like her.
Then, suddenly, she broke off into a run. He was startled, and ran after her; he was a tiny bit faster, but she had too much of a head start, and her eyes were keener then his. She spotted the rabbit first, dove for it, and started running back. Garad was no fool, though. Instead of chasing her all the way, he stopped, with the intention to intercept her. She saw this, but darted nearby anyway, jet black hair caught in her grinning face. Orcs liked sport, it would seem.
He lunged at her and seized the rabbit; she had a solid grip on the thing, though, and wasn't going to let it go. She kept running, and he was forced to keep up as he tried to wrest the thing from her. She held on firm, though; he was reminded of when he played with his neighbours as a boy, and remembered a trick he had always used on the little girls. With his left hand, awkwardly, he reached out to the exposed area of flesh just above her hip, and tickled her.
She reacted, though not as strongly as he had hoped. The little encampment was already within sight, and though she had partly lost her grip, he knew she was going to get it. He tried one desperate push, but the girl was solid; they stumbled and fell as they entered the camp, and she managed somehow to get on top of him again. They were panting, and she held the rabbit triumphantly in front of him, laughing in a low and orcish sort of way.
As she took a greedy bite out of the rabbit, probably to flaunt her victory, Garad became keenly aware of something he hadn't noticed before – there something about her, perhaps a smell he was only detecting subconsciously. It was the sort of thing that let males identify females who were in heat – he had been able to guess more or less correctly when his father's horses were ready for breeding when he was a boy, and when his girlfriends would be most receptive to his advances; and now that same, vague impression was floating about Jeshka. Perhaps it wasn't his good looks or trustworthiness that spared him the knife, but her biological clock. The thought was both exciting and worrisome.
Abruptly, she got off him again, throwing the leftovers of the rabbit into the fire, slowly filling the air with the smell of cooked meat. He couldn't help staring – certain he knew what he was going to get sometime very soon, he was unavoidably more interested in what was in front of him then he had been before. Her supple form moved about the fire, taking a seat opposite him and staring. She had a wicked grin on her face, but wasn't doing anything other then staring.
"What are you waiting for?" he asked impatiently. As much as he'd like to, running over and forcing himself upon the she-orc might prove fatal. She just grinned back at him though, and leaned over to one side. Her stomach and waist were exposed, he noticed, and this shift of position exposed her a little more; her strong abdomens and lean figure were definitely something that fit his fancy.
She must be teasing him, he decided. He got up, his hard on pressing against his leather pants, and strode around the fire. She looked up at him, expectantly – and suddenly leapt up, dragging him to the earth and slamming him on his back.
Instantly, she tore off his upper vest. A little voice in the back of his head started complaining about the loss of equipment, but the voice soon shut up when the orc started nibbling his ear and pressing herself against him. Eagerly, he started grabbing at her armour, but found he couldn't get it off. She laughed, and did something behind her back that made the leather fall off at once. She tossed it aside, and he got his first good look at the orc's assets – and what wonderful assets they were, too. They were a tad smaller then they had seemed, but were nevertheless large enough that he couldn't cup them in his hands.
Not like that stops me from trying, he thought mischievously as he reached up with his hands and began to massage her breasts. She groaned in pleasure, and lowered herself closer, gently biting the sides of his face. He seized the occasion to bring one hand onto her back; he slowly lowered it until it met her breeches. He wouldn't be able to undo it; instead, his hand went to her ass and he began to rhythmically push her towards him, hoping to get the idea through.
She understood, all right; in a few seconds, her pants were a rumpled heap three feet away and she was tearing his off so fast he feared for his manhood. She obviously had nothing else in mind, though, and was careful not to damage the center of her attention.
As Jeshka tore his clothes off, his cock sprung to attention, which hastened the orc's disrobing. When she finished, she glanced up at him; he wondered for a split second, but was pleasantly surprised when she engulfed him in her warm, slick mouth and began to flick the tip of her tongue on his head while she pleasured him. This girl definitely knew what she was doing.
Just has he was starting to move his hips in tandem with her, she withdrew, and jumped on him again, pinning his shoulders to the ground with her hands and positioning her tender regions just above the head of his cock. He wasn't usually an underneath guy, but this time he frankly didn't care. At first she teased him, rubbing her lips along his length slowly, her hips doing all the work and her torso relatively still, offering him a great view of her beautiful green breasts.
Then, without pretence, she plunged him into her. She was by far the tightest girl he'd ever been in, and as she ground her lower body against him, the muscles inside her tensed and relaxed, massaging his near-explosive manhood. Her nether regions were hot and moist, and he could feel the trickle of her juices down him as she pulled her hips away for another push. Jeshka didn't seem to care much, though – her instincts had taken over, and she was groaning with pleasure as she drove against him harder and harder
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