Page 7 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

“We usually do our big shared meals on Fridays, but since it’s your first day, Drogar wanted to make something special to celebrate,” Brovish said, his hand covering Laina’s on the table. “On Friday, we take turns cooking.”

“I’ll be glad to take a turn,” I said, already thinking about what dish I might make.

I took a bite of the kelthara.

The layers were soft, almost custardy where the filling had soaked in, and crispy at the top where it had browned. The filling itself held a slightly smoky flavor, with a bite sharper than garlic but earthier than onion.

“What’s in this?” I asked, pointing to the filling.

“Ground keshroot,” Drogar said. “Mixed with rendered woolaback fat. Vrindal flour for the batter between the layers. Salt from the Cassarian mines.”

I nodded like I understood.

“You can’t get these ingredients on the surface,” Traig said. “Drogar brings them back when he travels underground.”

“I…sneak them. I believe that’s the word.” Drogar grinned. “Someone has to maintain the supply chain.”

“You smuggle food?” I asked, slightly stunned.

“Redistributing resources,” Drogar said. “Those are better words, yes?”

Krem pointed his fork at me. “Don’t let him tell you about the time he brought back a barrel of salted prill eggs. We’re still burying shells.”

“They were a gift,” Drogar said.

“For who?” Greth asked, his voice low and dry.

“Us, of course.” Drogar huffed. “You loved them.”

Greth didn’t deny it.

Traig’s posture had relaxed. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but I’d spent the morning watching him hold himself like he was bracing for an audit.

Now he was just eating. Listening.

He caught me looking, and his eyes flicked back to his plate.

I took another bite of the kelthara, the richness settling in my chest.

Drogar explained his cooking process while Krem asked if there would be leftovers. Brovish teased Laina about something that made her laugh and shove his shoulder.

Traig had gone quiet, but I felt his attention. When I swirled the last piece of vrindal through the sauce on my plate, his mouth twitched. I’d almost caught him with a smile, which I had a feeling wasn’t the norm for this stoic orc.

“More?” Drogar asked, nudging his chin toward the dish.

Laina leaned closer, her voice dropping. “Fair warning. Now that you’ve eaten Drogar’s cooking, you’re part of the family. No take-backs.”

“I’m okay with that,” I said.

Brovish raised his cup of tea. “To Willa. May each of your days here be even better than the last.”

Krem tapped his plate with his fork, the others echoing the gesture. “You’ll do great.”

Soon, we stared at an empty kelthara dish. Drogar looked pleased. Krem had crumbs on his shirt. Greth had cleaned his plate and was holding his tea mug with both hands, watching us.

“Willa,” Laina said, sliding off her oversized chair and standing. “If you need anything, find me.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I will.”