From that day forward, Morg had become Jordan's most enthusiastic supporter. She'd shown Jordan which local herbs worked best for common ailments, shared generations of Orc healing wisdom passed down through countless winters. Now Morg spent her days sitting in the sun like a contented cat, offering advice when asked but otherwise perfectly content to let Jordan handle the daily stream of patients.
"Morg told me yesterday she hasn't slept this well in twenty years," Jordan said with a soft laugh that made me want to kiss her breathless. "She said I'm the best thing to happen to this village since plumbing."
"Morg is not wrong," I said, and kissed her anyway.
"I'm happy here," Jordan whispered, reaching up to trace the line of my jaw with fingertips that left trails of warmth. "Happier than I've ever been."
My arms tightened around her, pulling her closer still. "As am I, little mate. As am I."
The peace that had settled over the village felt hard-won and precious.
Nadine and her cousin both awaited trial in federal court. Jordan had spent countless hours meticulously documenting every shred of evidence, working late into the night with her friend Sarah to help build an ironclad case. The evidence was so damning that Sarah visited last week, barely containing her satisfaction as she told us Nadine was looking at a lengthy sentence.
The aftermath had rippled through Franklin, creating waves of change none of us had anticipated. Once the full extent of Nadine's crimes became public knowledge, something shifted in the human community. Apologies arrived first—awkward, halting, but genuine. Then came curiosity, tentative questions about Orc culture and customs. And finally, to my surprise, real interest in building bridges instead of walls.
Jordan, ever the optimist, had seized the opportunity with both hands.
"I've been thinking," she'd announced one evening as we sat on our porch, the setting sun painting the sky in brilliant strokes of color. "What if we opened the village to day visitors? Not all the time, and with strict boundaries. But Ruka—" Her eyes had lit up with that particular fire I'd come to adore. "Theway your people live, the craftsmanship, the community bonds, the sustainable practices—it's extraordinary. People would be amazed if they could just see it."
My initial reaction had been pure skepticism. Our isolation had always been our shield, our protection against a world that feared us. But Jordan possessed an uncanny ability to illuminate possibilities where I saw only risks.
"We could start small," she'd continued, her enthusiasm building like a gathering storm. "Educational tours, maybe once a week. Field trips for local schoolchildren. Show them the forge, let them see the gardens, walk through the communal spaces. Let them witness that Orcs aren't the monsters from their bedtime stories. Different, yes, but not the threat they've been taught to fear."
The elders had debated her proposal for three solid hours, voices rising and falling in heated discussion. In the end, it was elder Sarsa who'd broken the deadlock. "The girl speaks wisdom," she'd declared, thumping her gnarled walking stick against the ground with finality. "Hiding in shadows breeds fear and suspicion. Understanding breeds peace and respect. If they're willing to open their eyes and truly look, then we should be willing to show them who we really are."
The vote had passed. The trial period would begin next week.
Jordan had thrown herself into planning with characteristic passion—mapping routes through the village, coordinating demonstrations of traditional crafts, even organizing a tasting menu of Orc cuisine that would challenge human palates in the best possible way. Her excitement was infectious, and I found myself caught up in it despite my lingering reservations. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps this could mark the beginning of something unprecedented. Something transformative.
But there was one crucial thing left undone, and I planned to remedy it today.
The thought had wrapped itself around my mind, persistent and all-consuming. I'd stumbled through the council meeting in a daze, the discussion about grain storage going in one ear and out the other. During weapons training, my blade work was embarrassingly sloppy—three missed blocks that would have earned me a bruised jaw in real combat. Even Ryhain had caught on, her eyebrow arching skyward when I stared through her instead of answering her question about the forge schedule.
"Your mind is elsewhere," she'd said, amusement dancing in her eyes.
I couldn't argue with that.
The hours stretched, each minute an eternity. Every mundane task became a barrier standing between me and what my heart demanded. My pulse thrummed a wild rhythm against my ribs—strange for a warrior who'd stared down charging boars and hostile raiders without so much as a tremor.
When the sun finally began dipping toward the horizon, I made my way to Jordan's medical supply hut. I found her there, hunched over the massive metal contraption that had arrived days earlier, her face bathed in the honeyed glow of late afternoon light.
"Remarkable," she breathed, her fingers trailing reverently across its surface. "An X-ray machine. Ruka, do you understand what this means? I can see inside the body without a single incision. Fractures, embedded objects, internal damage—all of it visible."
I lingered in the doorway, watching passion illuminate her features like an inner flame. Something warm and fierce expanded in my chest, an emotion I was still learning to articulate.
"Hungry?" I asked, keeping my voice casual despite the secret thrumming beneath my words.
She jerked her head up, blinking as though surfacing from deep water. "Oh! Yes, absolutely. I completely lost myself there." She brushed her palms against her tunic and headed for the door. "Just need to secure everything."
I stepped into the cooling evening air, my heartbeat thundering in my ears—far too loud for such a simple moment. The lock clicked behind me, followed by Jordan's light footfalls. She tucked the key into her belt pouch and turned, offering me that radiant smile that never failed to steal my breath.
Before doubt could creep in—I'd been wrestling with it all day—I reached out and wove my fingers through hers. Her hand felt delicate against my callused palm, yet it fit as though the gods themselves had carved us to complement each other. She didn't hesitate, didn't pull back. Instead, her smile bloomed wider, and she squeezed my hand.
We walked together through the village, our joined hands swinging slightly between us. I was acutely aware of every point where our skin touched, of the warmth radiating from her palm into mine. Several villagers glanced our way as we passed—Morg paused in her conversation with Argon to give me an encouraging nod, while young Kael grinned widely. But I barely registered their reactions. All my attention was focused on the woman beside me, on the way the fading sunlight caught the highlights in her hair, on the bliss I felt simply from holding her hand.
Jordan's steps faltered when she realized I was steering us toward the stables instead of following the sounds of laughter and conversation drifting from the common house.
"Ruka?" Her brow furrowed adorably. "The common house is that way."