“What’s the protocol for feral ogres, sir?”

“Top priority. The Emperor’s creatures, corrupted by the wild. They’re an insult as well as a threat.”

Ogre General Gundar the Salmon, during a forest-clearing effort

—

The ogre blinked in surprise. When was the last time anybody treated him as a human, I wondered? I thought and grabbed my pack. I rummaged again and finally found what I was looking for. A little damp, my last bit of goat cheese.

“That wasn’t the right thing to start with. I’m sorry, for coming into your territory and then for hurting you. I’ll patch up your wounds as well as I can, but first, would you like some food? This is all I have right now.” I extended my hand, so close to the monster’s face.

Slowly, he reached out his free hand, in that gentle manner one reaches out for an unfamiliar cat to sniff. I placed the cheese in his hand and he brought it up to his nose and frowned before rolling his shoulders and stuffing it in his mouth. His eyes lit up.

“Mure.” He mumbled, hand out.

“Oh, uh. I’m sorry. I don’t- ah, wait.” I cupped my hands together, and when I opened them, there sat a new chunk of cheese. Again I dropped it into his hand, mimicking the sensation of its weight, its smell, its taste when it reached his lips. I wasn’t certain how close it was, but he seemed to like it anyway.

“Mur…gen. Name.” He mumbled. Maargen, without his speech impediment. Local variant of Maarken, come to think of it. Hm. That would be too confusing in my head.

“How’s Marg?” I asked.

“Murg fine.” He looked a touch confused at this request, but he accepted it.

“So, we came here to ask you for a favor. I’m sure you’ve seen that dragon that came here.”

“Ugh. Drugun ate duh furest. Uh hate duh drugun.” Marg growled.

“Yeah, not a fan myself. Unfortunately, it has something we need. If you help us out, I promise you as much cheese as you can eat." Hopefully that was less than it looked like he could eat.

"Puh! Need mure dan dat!" Marg spat. "Wunt hume! Want cluthes! Wunt fire!"

This took me aback. I was bargaining from the assumption that he enjoyed his wildness. But he had not chosen this life but been thrust into it. Of course he may want something more like what he once had. Despite his size, I could see how the skin of his torso clung to his bare ribs, and much of what looked like overgrown musculature was just the result of an unchecked frame, broad shoulders built mostly of bone.

"Hey Kelk! Marg is coming with us back to the fortress." I signed back at Kelk.

Kelk and Shiro looked quite relaxed before I bothered them. Shiro was stretched out across the ground in a very un-horsely manner, with Kelk leaning back into his fuzzy underside. I swore both of them sighed when I made my announcement.

"I suspected as much. Don't worry, they will allow it. Ki’pokiki would kill for a pet oker. Has for less." Reluctantly and with much pained stretching, he stood up. "Let’s get his wounds dressed. And you know what, the rest of him too."

I untied Marg while Kelk got his medical supplies from his bag. The ogre rubbed feeling back into his limbs while I examined his wounds. They were mostly shallow, but the one on his cheek would likely scar. It worried me more that they were soaked in swamp water. That would turn any cut poisonous.

"Here. Use this to clean out the cuts. I don't think he would trust me to do it." Kelk handed me a wineskin and I reluctantly nodded.

"This is going to sting, so hold still." I relayed the message and began carefully washing out each cut with toxic-smelling cheap wine. Marg whimpered like a child and squeezed his eyes tight, but remained still.

By the time I was done, Kelk had prepared both the bandages and a blanket. He helped Marg wrap the blanket around his waist and then tied it in place as a makeshift skirt, the sort worn by message-runners in towns. Marg seemed thrilled to have any sort of cover. I just shrugged. I never got the human need to cover up. I myself would rather shed my tattered and soaked clothes right now. Then again, if I saw Ki’pokiki without her armor... Ugh. I was becoming a truly hopeless pervert. I needed to get back among goblins to get my head on straight.

Putting aside disturbing thoughts, Marg was soon patched up and semi-dressed, enjoying his checkered skirt. He and Kelk still seemed wary of each other, keeping me in between them a boundary marker. Business as usual for me, I supposed. Oh, my life was in shambles.

“Alright Marg. I told you we need to get some treasure from the dragon. But don't worry, we don't have to infiltrate its lair or anything. It's a Numbskull, they don’t keep treasure like that. We just have to climb and get the golden sword out of his neck.” I spoke fast, hoping that perhaps he wouldn't catch everything.

“Whut!? Climb duh drugun!?” Marg roared. Damn, he understood perfectly.

“Calm down, please! It isn't as dangerous as it looks! It'll be just like climbing that cliff in your lake! It's about that smart, even.” I squeaked out.

“Nuh. Nuh nuh nuh.” Marg shook his head. He turned away, shuffling towards the lake. He was going to just flee, simple as that. What had I risked my life so many times for!? My hairs stood up, uncomfortably poking at my clothing.

“Coward! How can someone so big have so little guts!?” I yelled.

Marg stopped. I saw the muscles of his back tense into a pyramidal mass. Slowly he turned, revealing a face that looked sunburnt red.

“Tuke thut buck.” He growled, voice deepened into a bear's growl.

“I see we left enough blood in you to blush proper. Right, cause we beat you! A squirrelfolk and a goblin! And now you won't even try to redeem yourself! What kind of man are you!?” I surprised Marg by jumping forward, pointing a claw right in his face.

“Uh will crush yuh!” Marg threatened, raising a hand over me.

“Yeah, smash a defenseless goblin. That will really patch up your honor. Maargen goblin-squisher, they’ll call you. Bravest of all who destroy the small.” I stood defiant, despite the fact my heart was beating so hard that I couldn't hear myself speak. Kelk was looking at me like I had gone mad. Perhaps I had, but there was a plan in that madness.

“Uh am nut uh cuwurd! Uh survive!” Marg's crushing fist was wavering, and he took one step back.

“Like a wild animal. No honor. No pride. Just living another day, even if you have to crawl naked through the mud and eat the rotting table scraps of bears and griffons. You want to go back to that?”

We stood in silence for a moment. Marg breathed harder than he had after our battle. Tears that must have felt hot as lava bundled up on the edges of his eyes. Finally, he lowered his hand entirely.

“Uh am nut a cuwurd. Uh will climb.” Tears of fury in his eyes, he staggered ahead, waiting on the edge of the clearing.

I didn't smile at my victory. I wanted to puke. I wanted to backtrack and tell Marg he could leave, that I was sorry. Kelk was coming up to me, eyes wide.

“What the hell was that all about!? Why were you pissing him off!?” His signs managed to convey just as much confounded rage as spoken words could.

“Only way I could make him come along. He was scared. Right to be scared. So I called him a coward. And it worked, because he is a teenager.” I couldn't look at Kelk while I explained. I blushed now, a deeper green. Shame poisoned me from the stomach up.

Kelk scanned me with a frown. His fingers twitched, the signing equivalent of starting words and cutting yourself off. Eventually he gave up and turned to Marg.

“Let’s go! There will be a feast when we get back, I guarantee it! We will be heroes!” He yelled out loud.

Marg grunted, but seemed slightly cheered as he followed Kelk and Shiro. I was no longer between them, I noticed. Strange how that happened. After a bit of silence, we came to chattering again. In particula, Marg and I wondered what being a hero would mean for us.

It was an odd concept, heroism. We all three took hold of it and found something different, perhaps seeing it from different angles. Marg saw a promise of comfort. A hero could coast by on their achievements and spare themselves that eternal struggle to make a name for themselves. Certainly one still had to work, but they had already made their mark and could afford to take it easy. Presumably it would also mend the honor I had wounded.

Kelk saw no rest in being a hero. It was something that must be maintained if he were to improve his standing in the tribe. He wouldn't just be the best tracker in the army and Mal’oko's lackey. In respect he would be just under Ki’pokiki herself, or even above her.

"You aren’t going to try to push her out or like… anything like that, are you?" I asked when he mentioned his goals and he laughed.

"War chief of five tribes who hate each other is the last job I want. I just want more independence. I owe Mal’oko a lot, but he never gives me a break." Kelk spoke of the terrifying elder with a lot more fondness than I thought possible.

"He’ll probably insist that you still owe him cause he’s the one who made you come with me.” I signed back.

“Heh. Yes, that does sound like him. But it’s what everybody else thinks that matters, not him. Reputation is power, and power is freedom.” Kelk looked smug at the possibility.

I still wasn’t sure exactly what Mal’oko’s official position was in the army. Maybe I wasn’t thinking of it in the right terms. Ki’pokiki’s alliance seemed more like a haphazardly welded-together amalgam of tribes organized into a vaguely army-like structure. It made sense with what I had seen. Even Ki’pokiki needed to watch out for her reputation to remain in control.

So what did I want from being a hero? Well, I wanted to live. Become indispensable, so I couldn’t be thrown away. But perhaps there was more. Kelk wanted to become a power in his own right. Could I find that kind of independence? If I was going to find Maarken and Esen, I honestly needed it.

I just needed to survive that long.