Skirmish (Fangdarr): Abode
Follow along each week for Skirmishes of characters of the Orcblood Legacy Series. These are real events that take place during the story’s timeline but are not detailed in the book.
Fangdarr looked out from the mouth of his cave, enjoying the soft breeze as it rustled the trees. Months had passed since he had crawled back to the dwelling where he had Gub and nearly all memories had been driven far to the recesses of his mind.
Lifting the piece of boar leg to his mouth, the orc rose to his feet and turned deeper into the cave. He stood near the fire, warming his hands to ward off the chill. The turn of seasons was beginning and the breeze he so loved took on a stinging bite. Winter was coming soon, he knew. The first he would endure on his own. Fangdarr continued to warm his hands while scanning his abode. He had been preparing for the change of seasons since early in his arrival, gathering all the supplies he could.
A smile crept to Fangdarr’s face as he remembered his mother’s thoughtful and loving teachings and how they would spare him from a death of sheer cold. With the knowledge she had bestowed upon him, the orc had created a large fur blanket from the boars he had hunted. Its thick hide would serve him well, as would the stitched pillow quilted together with squirrel and rabbit furs. He had even stored a mass of bones and apples for the harshest of days where he could not leave the cave.
Everything seemed in place and Fangdarr was confident he would make it through the the winter. Though winter often lasted only a single moon cycle, the season was treacherous. Harsh, icy winds were the worst of it, despite the deep snow that often came. The trees within the Lithe diminished the elements greatly, but even with their protection the risk of being outside was too severe.
Fangdarr tore the last bit of meat from the haunch in his hand before tossing the bone into the pile nearby. Then, careful not to catch scorch his hands, the orc put another log into the fire to ensure it continued through the night.
As the orc walked over to his makeshift bed, he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye near the cave’s mouth. Instinctively, he grabbed hold of Driktarr and waited defensively. Time passed on with only the wind and crackle of flames in his ears while he waited. Fangdarr was certain he saw something. It may have just been a bird flying by or perhaps a rodent, but the back of his neck tingled in suspicion.
“Who go there?” In truth, he didn’t expect a response, but felt compelled to ask in any case.
Silence.
Rationality tugged at Fangdarr. There was no one there. Why would they be? With the onset of winter coming it made no sense for anyone to be outside of their own dwelling. Unless . . . they sought his.
Fangdarr’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he repeated himself. “Who go there?!” He stomped his foot against the cold stone to express his irritation and attempt to dissuade any who may think to enter.
After many moments, the orc’s suspicions were confirmed as a single troll entered his cave.