PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 (NSFW) - PART 4 - PART 5 (NSFW)
Your family did fine. You were more comfortable than some, but not so comfortable that you could sit idle. The crops had started to bud, and the shop was filled with all manner of pickled vegetables, fresh eggs, and flowers. You counted the coppers and silvers in the little lock box under the counter. Business was the same as usual, but your brow still furrowed.
Mother was getting tired. The decades of tilling, sowing, reaping, and harvesting had started to toll on her. Especially after your father left. The bastard. Your mother labored at home with an aching back and bad knees. Before long the crops would flourish and need tending. It was more than enough work for two, unfathomable for just you alone.
Jeering came from outside the shop. A band of orc hunters with their catches. They were a threatening bunch. Hard and strong. One orc could have the strength of two men. In the great cities they faced more discrimination, but out here someone either hunted for their meat, or payed other people to do the hunting for them. And the orcs⊠they were masterful at what they did. And so they were welcomed.
The rusted hinges of your shop door creaked. âDid you miss me?â
Any desire to feign positivity drained from your person. You didnât even try to hide the sour look on your face. Milo was a repugnant leech that had been stalking your family for years. He had tried courting each one of your elder sisters, losing them each time to men better than him. And now you were the last sister on the list. Unmarried. And running out of time. The latter fact he was quite aware of.
âHow is Celina?â You never liked how he called your mother by her first name. It was too familiar. You donât bother to look up from your coin counting. âMy Motherâs wellbeing is none of your concern.â Milo sauntered up to the counter, ây/n-â
You slammed your fist, sending a few coins into the air. âWhen will you get the idea that my family wants nothing to do with you?â You still couldnât look him in the eye. He sighed, picking up one of the coppers from the floor, âYou would rather your mother toil in the field? You would rather surrender yourself to the life of a shopkeep? Itâs a waste.â
You had no answer for him. Because he was right to question your choices. Yes you truly enjoyed running the family shop, but you couldnât possibly keep this up for long without your mother. She deserved peace and rest. But he was just⊠a nuisance at best. Frightening at worst. His family owned half the town, and how easy it would be for them to blacklist you and your mother from ever doing business in their marketplace again.
âAnywaysâŠâ He dropped the coin down onto your counter with a clank, âWinter will come. And will you be prepared? If your mother cannot help you work the fieldsâŠâ
âAre you trying to give me an ultimatum?â You had pushed the idea of next winter out of your head the second the ice started to melt. But he was right, what would you do? He didnât entertain your question with a response. No⊠it wasnât an ultimatum. It was a threat. A threat that when winter came you would get what was coming to you. He made his way out the door, the rusty hinges screeching. âYou should really fix that.â He gave a nasty grin and let the door slam behind him.
You pushed all the thoughts of worry from your head. It was something you had grown skilled at doing. Gods be damned if you let him spoil such a lovely morning. You threw the windows of the shop open, arranging bouquets from your flower garden for the street to see.
At night when you and your mother pray over dinner, you beg anyone listening for an eternal spring.
Two weeks pass uneventfully. You sell many bouquets of flowers to well-to-do ladies, and your motherâs special pickled red onions fly off the shelves as usual. In the early morning you sit counting your coins, listening to the soft bustling of the market just beginning to wake up.
âYou know you can pickle these eggs right?â
You keep your eyes trained on the coins, trying not to lose count. There is a long pause, but you can tell the man hasnât walked away, âWe donât sell any here.â
âYou should.â You raise your head to cock an eyebrow at him. You try to stifle a gasp from your chest. An orc man with olive green skin is leaned slightly through the window of your shop. You had never had an orc approach your little shop. They always had bigger and better things to sell and buy.
âWe donât sell those here.â A more rational person would have thought twice before talking back to an orc hunter. But you were tired of men questioning you. A young lady entered the shop, eyeing the orc man still leaning on your window sill. The door squealed unpleasantly, cutting through the tension like a knife. âFine,â The orc smirked and shrugged, exiting your window.
The next day, there was a basket waiting for you on your shopâs doorstep. You groan. This wouldnât be the first time Milo left gifts for you to find. You take a peek into the bracket and⊠what was this? Spices? Salt? Garlic cloves? Underneath the goods were two silver coins.
You yelped at the sound of fingers rapping against the window pane. You reeled around expecting Milo. But⊠it was the orc man. The orc man from the day before. He pointed at the little latch holding the window closed. You were sure he could punch his way right through the window if he really wanted in. âI donât want any trouble!â You yelled at him through the window.
Another smirk crept onto his face, âI bring no trouble with me, Miss. I just thought you might like a chance to make some more coin.â
What this lecherous orc seriously propositioning you for pay? Before he could say another thing, you hurled an egg at him. You hoped it would have just broken against the window to frighten him off. But to your horror it crashed through the glass, making a direct impact with his face. âFuck!â You heard him fall on his ass in the street.
You rushed to the window. The orc was splayed out on the cobblestones, his forehead bleeding from the broken glass. He lay motionless, and you started to panic. Oh Gods. Oh Gods no. You just assaulted an orc. A big strong orc man who kills things for his living. Not even Milo or his familyâs status could protect you from the wrath of an angry orc. You threw open the screeching rusted front door. Oh gods he was huge. He knew where you worked. He could follow you home. What if he brought his fellow huntsmen with him? What if they hurt your mother as well?
You couldnât stop any of the thoughts racing through your head. You were worried about making it through winter⊠now you might not even make it through the summer. You bit down on your fist, trying to keep composure.
âGot a hell of an armâŠâ The orc grunted, pulling you out of your trance. He sat himself up, bringing his fingers to the drops of blood running down his temple. âHa!â He guffawed and made his way to stand up.
âPlease⊠please.â You werenât sure if you were praying to a high power or pleading to him. His eyes met yours but there was no rage, or fury. There was a look of annoyance, maybe a bit of mild amusement. Rubbing his hand over the back of his neck he said, âMiss. I only meant⊠you should make pickled eggs. There are a lot of orc boys out here far from the motherland. They would pay a premium for a taste of home.â
You were nearly speechless, âI- I donât know how orcs prefer their pickled eggs-
âThat basket has everything you need.â
âOh⊠okay. Very well. Sir.â Your voice wavered and he could see how clearly frightened you were.
The orc groaned, wiping more blood off his face. âSorry about this. See you around.â You hoped that wasnât a threat, but with that he jogged his way down the street.
