Light filtered among the trees, and around the wagons, ahead of me, blinding in the otherwise dense canopy of foliage that made these woods so dark. I had to keep my eyes downcast until they adjusted. Our forest path had opened up to a small clearing, with a narrow creek running modestly through the middle of it. The water sparkled clean, fresh and inviting, at least from what I could see of it between the horses and wagons in front of me.

From the head of the caravan the Captain barked at the other mercenaries to stop and let the horses drink. The men were more than happy to obey, practically leaping from their horses and wagons, to lead their mounts to the creek. I hoped I would be released just long enough to quench my thirst, but I thought it unlikely. The Captain’s glares, and shortness of temper, suggested he was still bitter from last night. His eyes were tinged a brighter shade of red than usual, indicating a hangover that probably wasn’t improving his mood any.

So I sat on the ground for a bit and watched enviously as the men gathered upstream to fill their waterskins and splash their faces. Just as I thought I was going to be ignored during this break in our journey, the Captain approached me and begrudgingly unlocked my chain from the cargo wagon.

“I guess I should let you have a drink, as well,” he grumbled. “Can’t have the merchandise passing out from lack of water. However…” He gripped the chain near the base of my neck and gave it a firm yank. “If you so much as think about running I’ll have my men pierce every inch of your pretty skin with arrows. I don’t care how much gold you’re worth, I won’t have my product disobey me. Do you understand, wench?”

I nodded, weakly.

“Do you?” He yanked my chain again, this time hard enough to make me choke.

“Y-yes,” I coughed. “I understand.”

“Best you do, wench,” he spat, as he shoved me out of the way to go check the wheels on the wagon next to me.

I shot him a dirty look over my shoulder, and marched determinedly to the creek. Before yesterday I’d only ever heard the word “wench” used by swarthy guys in pirate movies, or at renaissance fairs. If I survived this I’d be perfectly happy to never hear it again.

When I reached the creek, I immediately dropped to my knees and dunked my face in. The water was freezing, but deliciously refreshing. I had been walking non-stop for a day and a half now, with very little to drink, and it seemed cruel that the water was too cold for me to keep my face in it for very long. I rinsed my hands, forearms and face, ridding myself of at least a few layers of dirt accumulated during my journey, and took to scooping small handfuls to my lips.

Finally getting my fill of the revitalizing creek water, I sat back on the grass with a contented sigh. I was still hungry, and still exhausted, but sating at least one need gave me a small, but appreciated, morale boost. For the first time since I’d been captured I had reason to believe that I might actually make it through this ordeal.

Next to me I heard some irritating snickers from the men of my camp. I was about to ask them what they thought was so funny, but I followed their gaze, and lewd gestures, to my breasts. My light blue shirt was damp from the creek, and clung to my body, leaving no mystery about the size and appearance of my nipples.

I scowled at them, and turned away. I refused to let them ruin my slight uplift in mood with their incessant jeering. Instead I imagined pushing every last one of them into the creek, and laughing heartily at what freezing water did to each of their dicks.

I decided to occupy myself with observing my surroundings. In comparison to the dense trees and little sunlight I’d been shrouded by for the past few days, the sunny clearing was a welcome sight. Although storm clouds were beginning to gather in the distance, the sun still shined brightly here, with its rays landing softly on the green grass dotted with tiny white daisies.

I had always loved daisies. They looked so delicate and sweet, but with a certain untamed beauty. Garden flowers like roses were stunning beauties, and I liked them also, but they were more temperamental and their growth deliberate. Daisies, on the other hand, seemed to be able to grow just about anywhere they wanted, and without permission. I suppose their wild resilience, and adaptability, was what I loved most about them.

The image of my little apartment far away, drifted through my mind. Although currently covered in snow, I made sure the flower box outside my bedroom window was bursting with vibrant blooms every spring. By late summer I always had daisies happily poking up from the soil. I was stung by a pang of homesickness as I wondered if I’d ever open that window to admire my flowers, or water them with my cheerful yellow watering can, again.

I shook my head to clear it. Dwelling on such things would not help my predicament –it would only make me sad. Right now I needed all of the emotional strength I could muster if I was going to make it through this ordeal.

I decided it was best to focus on what small boons fate had granted me: fresh water, sunshine, and lovely daisies to admire. It was tempting to pick one, but I thought better of it. It’s not like I had a vase to keep it in, and the dainty aesthetic of placing one in my hair would most likely be wasted on my current company. Instead I sat with my legs drawn to my knees and watched the horses lap happily downstream –they seemed just as pleased to be here as the rest of us.

Just beyond the horses, however, was the orc’s caged wagon. A mountain range of green-skinned muscle, he sat very still in his cage. As usual his gazed was fixed on some unknown point in the distance. He hadn’t spoken a word since I’d been here.

Much of the time he was asleep, actually, except at night. All last night he’d been wide awake; I knew because whenever I opened my own eyes at the slightest sound I would catch a glimpse of his, across the camp, shining in the dim firelight. I wondered if orcs were nocturnal, or if he was just keeping watch.

Or waiting, I thought. But I didn’t know for what. Others misjudged his apparent apathy for surrender, I’d heard murmurs of it around the caravan, but I knew better. Being caged did not make him any less dangerous. He was just biding his time.

Dangerous or not, however, he was still a living, breathing creature needing water like any of the ruffians around me who only barely qualified as “creatures,” themselves. I wouldn’t have expected them to free the orc long enough to drink from the creek, but I thought that they’d at least have the decency to bring him a waterskin. I put too much faith in people sometimes.

“What about him?” I asked the men closest to me, gesturing my bound hands in the direction of the orc.

A few snorted something unintelligible, and probably crude, under their breath; the rest ignored me, completely.

“What about the orc?” I raised my voice. A few more snorts. Mostly silence.

My eyes scanned the halted caravan for someone who might listen. About 20 feet away was the young mercenary, with the dark blue cap, washing his face in the creek. He’d been considerably less of a jerk than most of the men here, even helpful a few times, perhaps he’d be willing to help again.

I approached the young man where he was settled at the creek bed. Standing he was a tall, gangly boy, and kneeling he was almost eye level with my chest. I stopped about a foot away from him, but he didn’t acknowledge me. It was difficult for me to tell if he honestly didn’t know I was there, or if he was just ignoring me.

“Um… hey,” I muttered to him over his shoulder. It wasn’t exactly a polite greeting, but social situations weren’t my forte either.

He turned to look at me, and then quickly looked away again, seeming very interested in a random pebble in the creek all of a sudden.

“Do you want something, miss?” He asked, noticeably less friendly with me today than last night. I wondered if talking with me for so long had gotten him into some kind of trouble.

“What about the orc?” I jerked my head towards his cage.

The boy stiffened for a minute, and then began rubbing his neck with creek water.

“What of him?” He looked over his shoulder, still not meeting my eyes, at the orc.

“Is anyone going to bring him water?” I asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen him drink anything the whole time I’ve been here. I don’t think anyone’s brought him any.”

The boy shrugged. “Pay him no mind, miss. He’s just an orc.”

I resisted the urge to dunk his head in the water and hold it there for a few minutes.

“So… no one’s going to do anything for him?” I pleaded, holding my tied hands out.

The young mercenary shook his head. “You’d do better to mind your own business, miss. Don’t ya’ think ya’ have enough problems of your own, right now?” He snapped and then fell silent, apparently determined to ignore me.

I remembered the boy’s words from last night. Without his warning I probably would have been violated by the Captain if not once, then multiple times. But I felt terrible thinking he might have suffered for it. I wished that I had something to offer him in return for his compassion besides my deepest gratitude.

Hopeless, I let my bound hands fall. He did have a point –I should probably be more worried about myself than some beast in a cage who might break me into pieces if I got close enough. Maybe I should be spending my time trying to convince a mercenary to part with one of his waterskins, as there was no telling when we’d find another creek. As I had nothing of value to trade for one, however, persuading these men would probably involve a certain level of feminine coquetry, a subject in which I had no skill.

But although the orc and I had never exchanged a single word (perhaps he couldn’t speak at all,) I still felt a certain kinship with him. We were both here against our will being treated like animals –worse than animals, really. At least the horses were fed regularly.

I thought back to last night when the orc had looked at me from across the camp. Although his red eyes glowed menacingly in the dark, they had gazed upon me with concern. Without speaking a word, he had been more encouraging than anyone in this whole caravan. I owed him common decency if nothing else.

So I, with my wrists tied together, and dragging a heavy iron chain from around my neck, decided that if these “men” couldn’t be bothered to do the right thing, then I would. Squeezing my fingers tightly together I filled my hands with creek water, and carefully moved towards the caged beast.

“You guys all suck, you know that?” I spat over my shoulder, and then felt my face grow hot as the comment was only followed by laughter. One of them made a lewd comment inquiring about my ability to “suck” which was followed by more laughter. The snickers died, however, as they soon realized my intentions.

“What are you doing, girl? Asking to be whipped?” The Captain screeched off to my left.

“Leave her,” the elf, with half an ear missing, muttered. “That thing will sooner rip her hands off as drink from them. Then she’ll learn.”

I ignored them both, and continued with my mission. My hands began to tremble, but I forced them to stay steady, determined not to lose any more water than I already had. The 50 foot walk seemed like a mile, and I had to keep my steps slow and deliberate lest I trip over my chain.

The orc watched me cautiously through his dark crimson colored eyes -beautiful, bestial, and clearly not human. Up close, the enormity of his size was indisputable. His hands alone could engulf my skull… Or crush it.

I’d already lost about half of the water I’d gathered by the time I reached his cage, so before I lost more (or my gumption) I held my cupped hands through the bars. The orc’s brow furrowed with skepticism, but he calmly rose to his feet. I heard the cage creak and rattle with his heavy steps. For a moment I regretted my decision, fearing that he would take my gesture as an insult, and my arms along with it.

The cage rattled again, as he dropped to one knee, gripping one of the cage bars for support. We locked eyes for a painfully long moment, his face was twisted into a deep scowl making his bold features, jutting jaw, and pointed tusks even more menacing. Fearing I’d made a grave mistake, I had almost made up my mind to give up this silly act of empathy and run while I still had both of my hands.

The orc, however, dropped his gaze and slowly lowered his head to my open palms. He slurped every last drop eagerly, and I wondered how long it had been since he’d had anything to drink. I also noted how careful he was not to pierce my fingers with his tusks, which looked frightfully sharp.

Once he’d finished, I returned to the creek. Feeling a little more confident I took a moment to wrap the excess chain around my shoulders and out of my way, wishing I’d thought to do so sooner. I dipped my hands in the creek once more and returned to the orc, pleased that I didn’t lose as much water the second time around. Each time he drank it calmly, but gratefully.

I repeated this action two more times, while the mercenaries watched me silently with dropped jaws. On the fourth time, however, the orc grabbed hold of my wrist, stopping me from returning to the creek. His red eyes bore onto mine, but his expression had softened from a glower into one of gratitude.

“Thank you…” he said. His voice a low, rumbling bass that I would expect from someone of his size. Those were the first words I’d heard him speak.

This was no monster. He was a victim –angry, hurt, hungry, and scared like I was. In all honesty, he probably wasn’t half as cruel as the men who held him captive.

“Of course…” I said to him. “We’re both prisoners, after all.”

One side of his mouth curled around his tusks into something I could almost call a smile. He gave my wrist a gentle squeeze and then released it, and I took that to indicate he no longer needed my assistance.