She nodded, satisfied with that answer, and we spent the next hour immersed in the minutiae of village management—reviewing supplies, cataloging repairs needed before winter's teeth bit deep, planning the rotation of hunting parties. Tediouswork, perhaps, but essential. A chieftain ignorant of his village's resources was a chieftain who would preside over starvation.
By the time I escaped the kitchens, the sun was bleeding gold across the western peaks. My feet carried me to the one place that always brought clarity—Sarsa's garden, where she'd be coaxing life from the earth as she did every afternoon.
Sure enough, there she was, ancient fingers dancing among her herbs with the precision of a master craftsman. Her skin bore the deep creases of countless seasons, her tusks yellowed like old ivory, but those dark eyes? Sharp enough to cut through any pretense.
"Ruka." She didn't even glance up from her pruning. "Sit. Tell me about the human female."
My breath caught. "How did you—"
"Please." Now she did look at me, one eyebrow arched. "The whole village is buzzing about your adventure. You carried Ardin to their hospital, had words with their healers." She set down her shears with deliberate care. "And met someone who rattled that iron composure of yours."
Heat crawled up my neck. I settled onto the weathered bench, watching her return to her work. There was no point in deflecting—Sarsa had always seen through me like spring water. So, I told her. The hostile reception, the hateful nurse. And Jordan. Especially Jordan.
Sarsa's hands never stopped moving, but I felt the weight of her attention. When I finally ran out of words, silence stretched between us like a held breath.
"This doctor," she said at last. "You trust her?"
"Yes." The answer came without hesitation.
"Why?"
I thought about Jordan's hands, gentle on Ardin's small body. Her voice, firm but kind as she explained each step. "Shesaw a child who needed help. Not an Orc. Not a threat. Just... a child."
"And when she looked at you?" Sarsa's voice carried a knowing lilt that made my skin prickle.
"What are you implying?"
Her laugh crackled like dry leaves underfoot. "I may have more winters behind me than ahead, but I remember what it feels like to be struck by lightning." She studied me with those penetrating eyes. "You speak her name differently."
"She's human," I said, perhaps too forcefully. "That's all there is to it."
"Hmm." She turned back to her plants, but I caught the smile playing at her lips. "You know, our tusklings have been falling ill more frequently these past seasons. Nothing Morg can't handle, but they seem vulnerable to whatever sicknesses the humans carry." Her shears snipped with precise rhythm. "A healer who understands both worlds—one who sees us as people rather than monsters—that would be quite valuable to this village."
"Sarsa—"
"I'm merely thinking aloud, chieftain." Another snip. "What you do with an old woman's musings is entirely your affair." She paused, her expression softening. "But consider this. Your sister fled to the surface to escape her grief. You followed to protect her and the boy. You built this village as a bridge between our people and theirs." She met my eyes again. "Perhaps it's time to stop merely maintaining that bridge and start strengthening it."
The words settled over me like snow, quiet but impossible to ignore. Sarsa had always possessed this gift—the ability to speak truths I wasn't ready to acknowledge, to illuminate paths I'd been too afraid to see.
I rose, my joints protesting the movement. "Thank you, elder."
"Thank you for listening, chieftain." She was already back to her pruning, but her smile lingered. "Not all leaders do."
I was halfway across the village square when the hunters returned—three of them, a magnificent deer strung between them on a pole, its weight making their shoulders dip with each step toward Zuhra's kitchens. Tonight's meal would be a feast. The clan always gathered when we could, breaking bread and trading stories in the common house the way our ancestors had done in the deep places, before the surface ever knew our names.
My stomach growled its complaint, reminding me I'd eaten nothing since before dawn painted the sky. Perhaps I should detour to the hall, grab something substantial before making the trek back to—
"Chieftain!"
A warrior sprinted toward me, urgency written across every line of his face. My body responded before my mind caught up—muscles tensing, hand dropping instinctively to the blade at my hip.
"What's happened? Is it the sheriff?"
Sheriff Dawson circled us like a vulture, always hungry for an excuse to descend on my clan with his brand of justice. I'd been expecting him to show up regarding Ardin's shooting—it was only a matter of time. I'd overheard Jordan and her assistant whispering in the clinic, something about delaying contact with the authorities, buying us time to leave first. I'd wanted to believe it was kindness. Maybe even the first fragile thread of trust.
I forced my breathing to slow, smoothed the tension from my face. Whatever Dawson wanted, I couldn't let him see me rattled. Not with Ardin still fighting to heal.
"No, chieftain. It's..." He gulped air, steadying himself. "It's a human female. She's demanding to see you."