Torjo finds him against the menhir.

Domic sits, eyes closed, against the menhir for a few minutes, drinking from the waterskin and catching his breath, listening to the sounds of musketry and birds in the forest. He hears steps coming close and opens his eyes to find Torjo beside him.

"Are you alright lad?" he says, gripping his shoulder.{if YuldaLife=0} He is looking reassuringly at him, but behind his eyes he is screaming endlessly.{else} He is looking reassuringly at him, but behind his eyes there is only sorrow.{endif}

"Yes, I think so," he says, looking down at his brigandine. "Anything to look away from Torjo," he thinks, shaken. The outer layer has been chopped through, some rivets are missing and a few plates are bent inwards, but it has done its job of saving him from being split like firewood. "Just bashed up...probably will have big bruises," he says as Torjo grips his arm and helps him to his feet.

"Good, good. Now, I have a task for you." Domic nods that he's ready and willing. "Cerni's led a group into the caverns to hunt down any remaining orcs and find any information on the second group. Once they come out, we're out of here - I don't want us to be anywhere near here in case there's another band around. I need you to examine orcs out here and see if you find their boss, the massive one you and Cerni saw. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do," he says, steeling his heart and stomach. Torjo nods and heads off to coordinate the march back, while Domic walks around. Bodies of orcs are strewn across the ground, interspersed with men and women who rest, tend to their wounds, or search the corpses. At the tree line lay their own dead. {if YuldaLife=0}"Oh. Oh no," he thinks, sorrowfully, as he spies Yulda laying there, before a man covers her with a cloak.{else} "Too many," he thinks, sorrowfully, as men cover them in cloaks.{endif} Frowning, Domic wanders around, glancing from orc to orc - the boss is easily recognizable, and he has no wish to see more **** than he has to.

"Sergeant Torjo! Over here! This one's alive!" a guardsman is shouting from his position just a few feet away from Domic. As Torjo approaches with{if YuldaLife=0} another man{else} Yulda{endif}, Domic walks over and recognizes the orc. She - for it does look like a she, judging from the contours of her body - is the one who tried to split Domic in half with her ax, before he seemingly knocked her out cold. Her ax lies next to her, and Domic picks it up - it is lighter than he thought it'd be, and engraved with intricate designs on its head and the metal langets that travel from its head to leather-bound grip, to protect the shaft.

"Perhaps I'll get a decent price for it in Pael," he thinks. The orc suddenly takes a deep breath, sits up, yanks off her dented helm and chucks it away. She looks around wildly as her predicament slams her in the face, but she is dissuaded from taking any action by a cocked musket jammed against her head. "Gods, she looks like shit," he thinks - her face is smeared with a mixture of dirt, dried blood from the forehead gash he likely caused, and war paint.

"Well, what do we have here?" Torjo says, as he reaches them. He says a short phrase in some harsh tongue to her. Her amber eyes flick to him and she growls, but doesn't say anything. "Do you speak Norword? What is your name?" he asks, leaning down. She spits in his face. Chuckling, he wipes the spit from his face as the man holding her at gunpoint smashes the butt of his musket against her skull. "Well, what do we do with you? I don't think she speaks the dialect I know, but she obviously understands Norword. Could get some information out of her if we take her back. Jaetor, what do you think?"

"I say we kill it, no use dragging it back to town, Sergeant," the musket man says. The orc groans on the ground, face in the muck.

Torjo turns to Domic and fixes him with a steady gaze. "Well, Domic. What do you think? Do we take her alive, or kill it?"

He glances at the scene around him and thinks. "Let's take her back to Pael alive, find out what she knows," he says finally, frowning at the orc.

Torjo nods his head. "Fair enough. That means she's your ward, Domic," Torjo says. "Bind her, and get ready to leave." Jaetor drags the orc to her feet and holds her as{if YuldaLife=0} the man with Torjo{else} Yulda{endif} binds her arms tightly behind her back, and when she tries to bite Jaetor, wraps rope around her snarling mouth as well. They shove her over to Domic, who grips her tightly, keeping her at arms-length as she barrages him with muffled grunts, growls and thrown axes from her eyes.

"Shut up, just calm down," he curses in Norword as he leads her over to the tree line. But that only enrages her further, and she wriggles out of his grasp, spins around, and tries to headbutt him. He steps out of the way and trips her as she rushes past, sending her crashing into the earth. "Don't do fucking stupid things," he spits, dragging her to her feet as she hurls muffled curses at him.

He tosses her down to the pine needled ground in front of him and leans against a tree as she - perhaps tiring or realizing the futility of further curses or charges - sits herself up and stares hatefully at him, her eyes a furious wildfire. He ignores her, watching with relief as Cerni finally marches out of the cavern with her group. She talks to Torjo for a few moments, who nods, then she walks over to him. "Domic? How do you feel?" she says with concern.

"Better, I think," and he tries to smile reassuringly.

She still looks worried, but nods. "Alright - take it easy for a bit. What's this?" she asks, motioning to the orc.

"She's our prisoner - I think she's the one who bashed me up a bit," he says, "but she's too weak to cut through steel plate," he says in Norword at her. The orc growls and ineffectually tries to break out of her ropes. "We're taking her back as a prisoner - did you find anything useful in the cavern?"

"No, we fucking didn't," Cerni says angrily. "This was pointless," she scowls, before turning to the orc, "unless she knows something," she says, eyeing the orc with her own stare. Their eyes spit fire at one another as Torjo shouts a command to move out.

...

With twilight falling, Torjo calls a halt to camp for the night. As the men and women disperse a bit to find what shelter from the wind they can - there'll be no fires tonight - Torjo and Jaetor stomp over to where Domic and the orc stand.

"She give you any more trouble, Domic?" Torjo asks as Jaetor leans down to bind her ankles. She tries to kick him in the face, but he dodges out of the way, and socks her in the stomach. There is a crunch of bone hitting metal.

"FUCK FUCK FUCKING BITCH!" Jaetor shrieks as he cradles his hand and dances away. The orc's eyes light up with hateful glee and the air is filled with her muffled laughter.

"Fucking moron," Torjo curses under his breath as he kicks out the orc's legs from under her. She falls forward to the ground with a crash. "Domic, sit on her and bind her legs," he says, frowning. He sits down on the top of her - her forearms pressing annoyingly up against him - and ties rope around her thrashing legs. "Come now, fighting doesn't do anyone any good - especially you," Torjo says in Norword. "Set her against that tree, and unbind her mouth." As he does so, she spits at him, but Domic expects that and jerks his head to the side.

"Too slow," he sneers, as Torjo leans down in front of her.

"What's your name? Your clan?" he asks. The orc spews a stream of shouts and growls in her own tongue at him. "We know you speak Norword, just tell us your name." The orc just continues to yell at him, some spittle managing to reach him. He sighs heavily and stands back up, wiping the spittle away. "Bind her again - we'll find out more in Pael. I'm taking first watch, Cerni's second - you're third, Domic." He nods as he binds the orc again and Torjo walks away.

...

Domic wakes to Cerni gently shaking him. It is chilly in the air, and he uncovers himself with his cloak and gets off the ground. The moon is partway through its descent in the cloudy night sky. Cerni looks steadily at him - they hadn't had much time to speak to each other since the ambush. "And certainly no time to speak alone. But I shouldn't wish that," he thinks. "Did you hear anything?" he asks.

"No, only birds. How do you feel?" she says.

"Umm, I ache, but{if YuldaLife=1} Yulda{else} Jaetor{endif} examined me and told me it was only bruising. Sleep helped," he smiles weakly.

"Are you sure you can take third watch? I could -"

"It's alright Cerni. You need rest too - we can talk later," he says, looking at the tiredness in her eyes. She smiles and walks a bit away to lay down on her bedroll, where she is soon snoring softly. Domic leans against a tree across from the sleeping orc, ears primed and ready for any odd sound, glancing around to spot any weird shadows moving amongst the trees. He takes some time to examine his foe. Her face is still a mess of dirt, blood, and paint - and her midnight black hair as well, tied back in some complex braid. Spear tip ears stick out from her head, to match the vicious fangs jutting from between her lips. Tight around her throat she wears a necklace of what looks to be stones and bones. Some indeterminate amount of time passes, then the orc stirs, and her eyes snap open with a wildfire rage that cools to still dangerous embers as they lock to his.

"Mrfmu," she mumbles.

"What?" he says in Norword, walking over to her.

"Mrfmu," she glares up at him.

He sighs. "No biting or spiting, alright?" She nods her head, and he undoes the rope around her mouth.

"Water," she says. He sighs and takes out his waterskin, unstopping it and holding it her lips.

She guzzles greedily at the skin, water flowing in a little stream down her chin and throat. He pulls it away after she nods, and stoppers it, waiting. "It's polite to say thank you," he finally says.

"Fuck you," she growls.

"Cuh," he sneers and walks back to his tree as her eyes burn at him. He continues his vigil, but every time he glances at the orc he finds her glaring. "What the fuck does she want?" he thinks, after several minutes of this silent and hateful pressure. "What?" he finally says.

"That's my ax," she grunts.

"Her ax?" he thinks. He looks down, taking the ax out of his belt, hefting it, examining its workmanship more closely. The light is poor, but he can still make out the engraving of a snarling bear on its head, and while the leather grip is soiled with use, its quality is still apparent.

He smirks. "Ha, not anymore. I like it - might keep it for myself, or get a good price for it in Pael," he says.

"What?" she hisses.

"You heard me, I'm going to sell it," he says, stepping closer to her.

"No."

"It's mine, you can't do anything about it."

"One day I'll use it to spread your guts on the ground," she snarls, glaring fire at him. He steps closer.

"_Y_ou think so," he chuckles, "I'll just kick out your legs and bash you in the head again - was pretty easy the first time." She looks down, face contorting in anger - then before he can react, she hops to her feet and hurls herself the short distance separating them.

She slams him backwards to the ground, knocking the wind out of him, then dives on top of him with a thud, her bared fangs going for his throat. He whips the ax up and catches her snarling mouth with the shaft, inches from his throat, her eyes blazing in fury, his heart pounding. She gnashes in frustration, lets go of the ax and raises her head to try for his throat again. As she brings it down, he bashes her forehead between her eyes with the shaft. She recoils, stunned, and he grabs her hair in a tight fist and shoves the ax blade to her throat. She snarls in frustration, knowing she's at his mercy. "Are you going to kill me, human?" she manages to **** out.

"Should, but...can't question...corpse," he wheezes, her weight painfully aggravating his bruises. Hot blood from her wound drips unto his face.

"Fucking coward!" she hisses, glaring hatefully at him. She squirms on top of him, trying to break free, but he holds her tight.

"Can't happen again...swear you won't try to kill me...again," he says. She snarls again, face contorting into an exploding volcano of rage, pushing her head closer to him and causing a trickle of blood to flow down the blade. His heart races, not knowing if he'll be able to hold her. Then her rage suddenly cools and slides into exhaustion.

"Fine," she says dejectedly, "I'll swear it."

"Say I, whatever your barbaric name is, do swear by the gods good and high, to never again try to kill Domic of Pael, or may they damn me."

"I, Kexca Bearsoul, do swear by the gods good and high, to never again try to kill Domic of Pael, or may they damn me," she chokes out. He removes the blade from her throat and forgetfully releases her hair, letting his arms and head fall down in exhaustion. She slumps down on top of him, forehead on his chest, breath ruffling the cloth of his tunic.

He says the only thing that comes to mind: "So, uh, your name's Kexca?" he says, lifting his head. She stirs, and smears her face across his tunic, lifting her head, inches from his. Her amber eyes, their rage dampened by the fog of exhaustion, stare into his. Something sparks in her eyes, but then the rage comes back, and she frowns.

"I hate you," she hisses, and rolls off him. Groaning, he picks himself off the ground and shoves the ax back in his belt. He drags her back over to her tree, hoping rocks and other things are scraping and poking her.

"Good. I hate you too," he says, dropping her. She glares at him and lays her head down on the ground, as he returns to his watch.