Page 74 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

“The system needed refining.”

I looked at the labels. At the iterations. Medical Supplies - Bandages - Gauze - Sterile - 4x4. Then right beside it: Medical Supplies - Bandages - Gauze - STERILE - 4x4. The only difference was capitalization.

“This isn’t about the labels not being clear enough,” I said.

He stood, still not looking at me. “I have work to finish.”

“Traig, wait⁠—”

But he was already walking past me, his arm brushing my shoulder as he went.

I almost reached for him. My hand came up, my fingers stretching toward his arm.

I let it drop.

When his footsteps had faded, I stepped into the supply room and picked up one of the discarded labels.

He was trying to control this because his life was completely beyond his control.

Leaving, I returned to my desk and work.

Chaos ruled the break room when I walked in to eat lunch.

Krem stood near the corner, his hands on his hips, staring at something on the floor with an expression somewhere between fury and admiration.

“She took my spatula,” he said without looking up.

I moved closer.

A mossnibble had built a nest in the corner between the refrigerator and the wall. She stared up at us with her teal eyes before going back to grooming her mint-green fur.

The nest itself was impressive. Rolled-up bandages formed the base layer. Sticky notes in five different colors created the walls. My missing pen sat wedged between two rolls of gauze, and Krem’s spatula—the one he’d brought from the kingdom and refused to let anyone else use—crowned the top like a flag.

“I need that spatula,” Krem said. “I plan to cook with it on Friday.” He crouched, reaching toward the nest.

The mossnibble’s eyes went wide. She launched herself at Krem’s hand, chittering in a pitch high enough to make my teeth hurt.

Krem jerked back. “Alright. Keep it.”

Drogar appeared in the doorway, a mug in hand, grinning. “You’re letting a tiny creature defeat you?”

“You try.”

Drogar set his mug on the table and slowly approached the nest, his hands raised. “Small friend. We can talk about this. You have many shiny things already. The cooking tool can return to Krem, yes?”

The mossnibble sprang out of the nest, snatched Drogar’s hat off his head, and dragged it back to the nest before he could blink.

Krem laughed hard enough he had to sit down.

Drogar stared at his hat, now wedged behind the spatula. “That’s my good hat.”

“Was your good hat,” I said.

The mossnibble settled into her nest, arranging the new addition with careful paws. She sat back with a happy whistle.

“I think we’ve lost,” Krem said.

Drogar crossed his arms on his chest. “I’ve negotiated with fillawigs. With grumbletoads who wanted to fight the sun. This tiny thief will not win.”