Page 47 of The Orc’s Comfort

The weight of that presses into me. I don’t rush to answer it.

“I don’t want to take anything,” I say finally. “I want to help it continue.”

“You already have.” She sets down her fork. “The exhibition proved that.” A pause. “Now. You’re heading somewhere serious, the two of you.”

I blink. Apparently, in Korgath’s mind, we’d finished discussing the future of WarmHearth tradition and moved on to the future of my relationship.

I glance at Rhazgar.

“Don’t look at him. He already knows what I think.” Her eyes are sharp and direct. “You need to understand that a WarmHearth bond isn’t casual. Claiming, scent-bonding, territorial instinct. Humans tend to interpret those behaviors as possessive. They’re not. They’re language. Specific and old and meaningful. You need to know what you’re saying yes to.”

“I’m still learning the language,” I say.

“Good answer.” Something shifts in her expression: not warmth, but the thing that precedes it. “The other thing you need to know: full bonding carries the possibility of family. Not a guarantee. A genuine possibility. That’s not something you drift into. That’s something you choose with your eyes open.”

The room goes quiet. Not uncomfortable. Considered.

“We haven’t talked about it yet,” Rhazgar says.

“Then talk about it,” she says simply. “Before, not after.” She softens slightly. “I’m not trying to frighten you. I just don’t believe in surprises when it comes to things that matter.”

“I appreciate that,” I say. It’s impossible to mistake her bluntness for anything but care.

She nods once, as if something has been confirmed, then stands to clear the plates. “Because here is what I want you to understand.” She doesn’t look at us while she says it, hands busy with stacking dishes. “I have watched Rhazgar do everything right for years. The compound. The cultural center. The cooking circles. Every tradition maintained with his two hands and no help and no complaint.” A pause. “He is methodical and dutiful. He has been lonelier than he has ever admitted to anyone.”

The back of my throat tightens.

“Until he met you,” she continues, “when he started showing up differently. Like he was looking forward to something.” She turns then. Looks at me. “So I am being direct. Not because I doubt you. Because he matters to me, and the people who matter to me deserve to be chosen clearly.”

Silence.

I hold her gaze. “I choose him clearly,” I say. “I know it’s bigger than I can fully see yet. I know I’ll get things wrong. But what we’re building is worth it, even the parts I can’t predict.”

Korgath’s expression shifts.

“Good answer.” She looks at Rhazgar. “And you. Ready to build something with someone who’ll never fully understand all of it? Who’ll need patience?”

“I’m ready to build something that couldn’t exist without both of us,” he says. “Something that doesn’t make either of us smaller.”

“Also good.” Her smile arrives, full and real, the laugh lines deepening. “Then you have my blessing. It’s not a legal document. But it matters, and you’ll want it.”

“Thank you,” Rhazgar says.

“Don’t thank me yet. Wait until Grulk finds out and starts planning a celebration you don’t want.”

We all laugh. The tension breaks clean.

While Rhazgar clears the last of what Korgath stacked, she moves beside me at the counter.

“His grandmother used to say the hardest thing she ever taught him wasn’t a recipe,” she says quietly. “It was how to let someone help.” Her eyes find mine. “She never felt she got there with him. I think she just ran out of time.”

My throat tightens. “I’ll keep trying.”

“I know.” Her hand finds my shoulder briefly. “That’s why I told you.”

At the door, she hugs Rhazgar hard, then pulls me in too: certain, warm, immediate. “Make each other happy,” she says. “Build something good.”

In the truck, we’re quiet for a while. The neighborhood moves past the windows, ordinary and dark.