Chapter 82
First Lessons
The pugilist led the way back to the ridge, long powerful strides digging into the earth.
Ponytail following with a smooth, efficient rhythm.
That fucker is silent.
Ken scratched the back of his head, fighting the urge to look back.
The Orc carried the sword of his fallen ally resting on his shoulder, double clubs hung from his hips.
Head on a constant swivel.
Ken pointedly ignored the sword.
Surprised he is not seeking revenge… I would.
Pausing near the stream running down below the upper camp, Ken ripped off his ruined hoodie. Skin puckered, cuts and scabs pulling taut, as handfuls of frigid water washed away the dried blood and grime.
Two white orbs never stopped swiveling.
Ken tried to ignore it.
This is weird.
Shivering and dripping, Momentum vibrated through his battered pathways, helping heat his body as they continued the climb.
Cresting the ridge, the Orc’s eyes widened, spotting the massive corpse of the jaguar.
Approaching it with respect, the orc placed a hand on the shadowed pelt, looking up with a raised brow.
Ken kneeled, pantomimed cutting at its skin, then stood up and struck a pose.
Mostly naked in the wind.
The Orc frowned for a brief, analytical moment, then nodded sharply.
A small knife slipped from his belt.
Ken settled onto a flat rock, curious.
What followed was a masterclass in primitive survival.
The Orc worked with focused, economic movements that spoke of hard earned experience.
Humming all the while, a deep guttural bass that filled the small cave.
Connective tissue and fat vibrated, steel parting it with ease, iron tang filling the air.
In a haze the city slicker watched as the giant cat was skinned.
It took him less than two damn hours…
Ken processed the potent chi from the troll while studying the orc’s work.
Robust and enduring, it stretched his pathways, fighting to maintain its cohesion.
Bit by bit, it broke down in the raging river.
Twisting violently, the Core’s volume expanded, the rivers of energy multiplying and tying into a dizzying knot.
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A fresh wave of power streaked through his body, causing him to lurch, stumbling into the wall.
He couldn't hold back the wide smile at the curious orc’s expression.
Like a 20 percent increase. We take those.
With a confused cock of the head, and a resigned shrug, the orc resumed ignoring the strange naked man.
Watching Ponytail clean the viscera from his knife, Ken realized he should stop calling him ‘Ponytail’.
Standing up, he walked over.
As Ponytail looked up curiously, the pugilist tapped his chest, “Ken”.
The orc’s confusion remained.
He cycled his chi, and thumped his chest, “Ken”
Ponytail paused a beat, and nodded with understanding.
Stretching to his entire six and a half feet, his chest resonated, “Garuke.”
Ken nodded sharply, exaggerated.
By most male standards, they were now considered good friends.
Garuke gathered long straight branches, using vines to tie them into a large rectangle.
Holes were poked along the edge of the hide, holding it in the frame.
Wood groaned as it quivered, Garuke cinching it tighter and tighter.
Leaned against the rock wall, he began using the sword to meticulously scrape the flesh.
Ken cut some of the meat into strips, placing it in the smoker.
Bellies growled as the first hints of woodsmoke and searing meat began to push back the iron tang of the cave.
While he worked, he attempted rudimentary communication.
"Water," Ken stated clearly, pointing to the waterskin.
Garuke repeated the sound, closely enough: "Waarter. Warter."
He countered with, "Lor”
“Lor is water, got it.”
As the animal was processed, Ken built a small fire and prepared a rudimentary stew using water, fresh leopard meat, and some mostly fresh berries.
Garuke glanced at him on occasion, his expression unreadable.
Stuttered words broke the silence.
The strange sounds, and each other's presence, eased into a more comfortable familiarity.
Perhaps most importantly Ken learned the orcish word for ‘meat’ is ‘gral’.
Garuke also seemed to refer to themselves as ‘Gurukak gat tarka’.
Ken felt as if it had a deeper context, but it seemed like he was saying they were buddies.
With the massive Troll defeated, and new threads on the horizon, Ken finally allowed himself a moment of genuine, albeit tense, relief.
The day ended with plenty of food, and a terrifyingly efficient new ally.
Now how much can I trust this new ‘ally’…?
They ate their fill, mostly in comfortable silence, lost in thought, gazing at the fire.
Damn, I hope I didn't mess up helping Garuke. Ken thought to himself.
Krilak. Ki grok nak os krul gat kit duna Ken. Garuke thought to himself.
“Well, sleep time. Goodnight, Garuke.”
Ken announced with a resonance of chi.
Wincing, the orc thought for a moment.
Long ponytail swayed as his head dropped into a deep nod, “Roko duro, gul.”
Ken mirrored the nod, then retreated to his corner, curling up on the comfy rock.
Breath held, ears straining, he worried about falling asleep.
Waiting for the creak of leather.
Listening for the crunch of gravel.
But soon enough, soft heavy breathing rattled from across the sheltered cave.
Huh. He seems to be trusting.
Ken lay deep into the night.
Wondering how the primitive, bestial orc trusted so fully.
Pondering what it meant that he didn't.
He thought of Kim's smile, the way she'd laugh at his stupid jokes.
Will she still see the same man?
Will she even recognize me?
Ken… made a friend? What is this, elementary school?
Thanks for sticking with me!
