In My Dreams

Silver bullet

If someone had told Clara she would be riding on an orc's shoulder through Blackthorne Forest in a land called Xakar Kingdom, she'd tell them to make an appointment with a good psychologist. Preferably not herself as she's more experienced with marriage counseling. Still. Worse yet, if she had ever told Andy what she was experiencing, he'd admit her into a psych ward. She sighed. Andy...

She wondered if she really transported to another land or if she was dead. Maybe time was different here. Maybe Andy didn't know she was gone, yet. She wanted to go back home, to the real world. But there was something else niggling at her. Something inside her didn't want to go home. 

A grunt interrupted her thoughts. Rok pulled aside the last thorny branch into a clearing. She blinked up and noticed a small hut encircled with a wooden fence. There was a small garden in the right corner of the front lawn with bright red tomatoes, hearty pumpkins, bright yellow peppers, and many other assorted vegetables. She liked all their different colors. She used to love to cook, but with a fulltime job and the errands Andy requests of her, she didn't have much time for it.   

She didn't know how long they'd been traveling through the forest, but judging by the red sun blinking on the horizon, she figured it was a couple hours at least. She was starting to get used to Rok's silence. He wasn't much of a talker, even with the ability to read his thoughts. They stepped into the clearing and up to the fence gate before Rok gently lifted Clara off his shoulder and plopped her back on her feet. Her legs wobbled against the hard ground. It had been a while since she'd walked. He grunted and nodded his head to his hut. Clara froze as he opened the gate and started walking toward it. Noticing she wasn't following, he spun around and rose a thick eyebrow. 

Clara crossed her arms. "I'm not going in there! I—I know what you want! I—I'm a lady! A married woman, in fact! I'm not going to just waltz into a strange man's house, even if he is an orc!"

Rok responded with an incredulous look. His disgust mirrored Clara's own expression. He grunted and pointed at the sun sinking from the horizon. "Burzum!" he snarled. 

"I don't know what that means! Look, what if you just steer me to where I can get back to the real world and then we can both get on with our lives! How can I possibly get caught by werewolves when I'll be in another world? Right?" Clara tried to sound reasonable.

Rok snorted furiously. He stomped over to her. The hair on the back of Clara's neck rose up. She yelped and tried to run. He reached out and grabbed the back of her dress and picked her up like a fairy. "Put me down! Put me down, you big oaf!" she screamed. He ignored her and carried her back to the hut. He stormed in and slammed the door behind them as a single wolf's howl rang through the forest. She froze at the sound. He dropped her onto her feet and she fell in a heap. She huffed. 

"You could at least be gentle," she grumbled. 

Rok bared his teeth and pointed at her as if he'd lecture her, but he thought better of it. He wasn't going to waste his time trying to reason with a witch, let alone one with no memory. He'll have to call reinforcements on the morrow to decide what to do with her. She kept mentioning something about a "real world." Maybe she had escaped an asylum. He turned away from her as she began to fall into a long rant about manners and respect. He checked on the pot brewing above the fireplace. He grabbed a cloth and pulled up the lid. He broke into a smile as he inhaled the savory, rich aroma of vegetables, bone broth, and cooked rabbit.

"You can cook?" He turned to her voice. She looked at him curiously. He cleared his throat and closed the lid. "I thought orcs eat creatures raw, you know...like Fee Fi Fo Fum!" She puffed up her chest and her cheeks. He was both offended and amused. He wondered if she was talking about giants. He shook his head and turned away from her. He walked to the other side of the hut, where a large thick bed stood with a small wooden table and a wardrobe next to it. He opened the wardrobe and started plucking out blankets and cushions. 

From the corner of his eye, he noticed her looking up at the high ceiling in awe. Straw was laid over the entire roof, filling in every hole between the wood logs and stones. A yellow glow filled the inside of the hut, from the fireplace. On the large wooden table, there were wooden dishes and utensils with a single clay vase filled with bright sunflowers. On the walls, a large assortment of weaponry hung on them, including different guns, a bow, and several daggers. An old quilt with patterns of animals was strewn over the large thick couch across from the fireplace. Strewn around the room were basins, buckets, brooms and mops, and more miscellaneous supplies that Clara wasn't familiar with. She looked at every item, touching them lightly. She poked a sunflower and a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. 

Rok couldn't remember the last time he had met a woman who wasn't trying to kill, maim, or put a curse on him. He much preferred the company of his wizard friends. Maybe they could help him speak to her. She doesn't seem to understand orcish unless she uses her magic. He didn't like the shock of her magic on his skin when she touches him. He felt a tiny pang in his chest. He had forgotten what it was like to feel a woman's touch. It had been such a common thing, a tiresome thing, before he grew tusks and turned green. He scowled at the memory. He closed the wardrobe doors and headed toward the couch with the blankets and cushions in his arms. 

"Clara." Clara jumped at the sound of her name in Rok's rippling deep tone. He remembered her name. She watched him drop blankets and cushions on the couch, stuff to sleep with. She smiled. 

"T—thank you, Rok," she said. He looked at her and nodded stiffly. He turned to the fireplace and began to scoop stew into wooden bowls. 

They ate in silence, Rok sitting on the floor by the fireplace and Clara sitting on the couch, a blanket tucked across her lap. Clara wanted to kill the silence by talking, but she could only understand him if she touched him. She was sure that'd be both embarrassing and uncomfortable for them both. She sighed and looked down at her bowl. The meal was delicious, despite being made by an orc. She wondered where he'd learned to cook. He seemed to live alone, possibly isolated for long periods of time, judging by the lack of dining chairs. He only had one by the table, as large and thick as he was. 

Rok tried to focus his gaze on his stew. He wasn't used to being much of a host. His wizard friends suited that role, they were more charismatic. Why did he have to be the one to find this girl in the woods? 

Clara couldn't stand the silence anymore. She opened her mouth to speak, but a horrible scream shattered the quiet. She jumped and her stew spilled everywhere. She started shaking, fumbling with the bowl and the blankets. Rok didn't flinch. He watched her struggle out of the blankets and trip over them on the floor, his spoon frozen midair. 

"Why are you just sitting there! Didn't you hear that?! We need to help! Get your guns! Shoot something! Anything!" Clara shouted, her voice shaking. 

Rok stared back. Clara let out an exasperated yell. She stormed over to him and grabbed his wrist. She tried to pull him up. 

Werewolves. Mealtime.  

"They're killing people! We need to save them!" Clara wailed. 

Deserve to live as all creatures do. Like us.  He gestured with his bowl. 

Clara glared. She could smell the rabbit meat. Sure, they kill animals to eat them, but this was different! They were real people who had families! Right? She shook her head, fighting with herself. "They need us! We can't just let them die!" She let go of his wrist and ran to the weaponry on the walls. She was too small to carry any of them. She settled with the chopping knife on the dining table. She picked it up, slammed the door open wide, and ran into the darkness of the night. 

Rok stared at the door in shock. He huffed, put down the bowl, and picked up the biggest shotgun he had off the wall. He stuck a dagger into each boot. He opened a wooden box and stuffed his pockets with silver bullets. He loaded the gun with a couple and cocked it. He shook his head in disbelief as he put on his cloak and headed out of the hut. His yellow eyes glowed brighter in the dark as his sight adjusted from the fireplace light. He could clearly see the dark trees, the garden, the footsteps in the dirt, and then the large fire blooming from the farthest corner of the forest, where the town of Locke stood. 

He growled and stuck his gun into its sling. She couldn't have gone far, but he wasn't worried about losing her. He was worried about what could capture her while he tried to catch up. There were more dangers in Blackthorn Forest than werewolves. Whoever the witch was before she lost her memory, she must have been a powerful one to have such bravery.