Making it out

The bonfire roared outside, casting long shadows across the canvas as the drunken laughter of the warband faded. Inside, the quiet was thick, broken only by heavy breathing and the steady drip of spunk onto the dirt.

Uthul sat slumped beside me, her usual razor-sharp swagger completely crushed after her mutinous grunts used her until her pride was in tatters. Beside her, Korant shifted with a painful wince, his face burning with deep shame.

“My lord…” Korant whispered hoarsely. “I failed you… I allowed those beasts to…”
“Save it, Sir Flustered,” Uthul rasped, her voice devoid of its usual mocking bite. She blinked away her haze, looking at the thick wooden beam anchored behind our bound wrists. “We’re not dying here.”
“We’re stripped, covered in… *this*, and tied to a watchtower beam!” Korant hissed.
“I’m an orc,” Uthul grunted, a tiny spark returning to her eyes. “Hold on. This is going to hurt.”

She maneuvered her bare, muscular thighs against the base of the pole, braced her back, and drove her legs into the earth with a guttural growl. The sheer force sent corded muscle straining along her green skin.

A sharp CRACK echoed through the space, followed by a violent SNAP!

The splintered beam gave way, sending the three of us tumbling onto the dirt. Uthul worked her hands free from the broken timber, untied my ropes, and I quickly freed a bewildered Korant.

Uthul pulled herself up against a crate, her chest heaving as she looked at me with a weary shadow of her former self.

“So? Let’s go,” she whispered. “and don’t you dare make a sound!.”