“Chamili is out gathering berries.” She admitted, her voice heavy with dread. The scent of his mother filled his nostrils like perfume, and the image of her naked form consumed his thoughts. The elves here may know our son, but there is too much bad blood between our races. With a final, swift thrusts of his hand, Dagok gave a roar of satisfaction, semen spraying across his chest and hand. They sometimes count half-orcs among their numbers. His keen hearing picked up the animal’s frightened heartbeat, and the young Orc felt a surge of determination, a sense of duty to provide for his family. “We must find him a bride,” she insisted, determination in her voice. Eyes sharp and focused, Dagok spotted a grazing deer and hurled his spear with precision, striking the creature down. “I need a bride, Mother,” he rumbled, his eyes pleading. Lyvelle and Anipa slept beside each other, curtained off from the main area of their hut. “I will do this.” Dagok replied, his deep voice echoing through the wooden hut.
