Ushatar's belly was full of nerves as he approached her cave, a fur blanket thrown over his shoulder. Did I really tell her about Dolpan? What the fuck was I thinking!? The shame of it was nearly enough to make him turn around and hide in a hole for the rest of his days.

If he wasn't desperate to see her, that was: to breathe her in, and best of all, to feel her warm, light body safe in his arms. He'd spent the night in a panic that she'd hurt herself while alone.

But oddly enough, it had also seemed to help her to know of his shame. It had brought her guard down for a moment, and she'd been a little less afraid, and angry. And she had never seemed more open to him when she swore to him that she wouldn't betray his humiliating secret to the others. It was worth it, then, provided she didn't think he was a loburz now, on top of everything else.

"Tara," he called softly, and a moment later she came ducking out of the tiny cave. Ushatar sucked his breath: she was beautiful. Her black hair was long and loose; it tumbled over her fringed leather dress and the shawl of brown fur wrapped around her shoulders. She worried her full rosy lower lip a little between her flat white teeth, and her grey eyes were full of trepidation… but also, excitement. As ever, her arms were wrapped protectively around her body. She gave a little shrug.

And then, incredibly, her pretty lips curled into a small polite smile, and he was knocked off his feet. Ushatar could smell her sharp fear rising, but she was brave, and it made his heart ache.

She shook her head demurely. "I don't know. I don't know if I can do this. With you."

"You've got my word, Tara. And if that isn't enough, take this. Aarth-Anghum made it for me, but you can carry it." Ushatar unbuckled a sheath from his sturdy brown leather belt. He was proud of the knife, a hooked black dagger with a carved bone handle. The name Azat-horn was carved down the side in angular letters, and the other side had an incredibly detailed carving of a raging troll. Aath-Anghum gave it to him only the day before, for it had taken a full two weeks to make.

Tara took it in her small hands, testing the weight appreciatively. She took the blade out of the sheath, her grey eyes wide in their setting of thick black lashes. "What does the writing mean?"

Ushatar shrugged a little, embarrassed. With the Orcs, he'd felt proud, but he was afraid it was too bloody for her. "It's just a name they gave me."

"Azat-horn. I've heard. That was a good thing you did, Ushatar, saving Daumani's mate. And this is a beautiful weapon." She carefully buckled the sheath on her braided belt.

"Don't get too cozy with it," he said, daring a small smile. "I'll get you a pretty blade of your own, but not just yet."

Tara looked up in suprise, her lips parted beautifully. "I'm not gonna do that," she whispered, eyes wide. "I'm not. I thought about it. I don't want to."

Ushatar nearly died in relief, but he managed not to fall to her feet in gratitude. "I'm glad, Tara," he said quietly, showing her a calm face. "Ready?"

"I'm gonna walk," Tara said firmly. "I thought about that, too. You can help me, I might need to lean on you and take rests, but I want to try, at least. I don't really want to be carried."

"All right," he said, biting his tongue. It made her angry when he hovered too much, he remembered that. But if she needed him, if she asked him, he would sweep her off her feet.

He couldn't believe he was walking with her. When she got tired, she leaned against the wall, the torchlight flickering on her face, her little hand to her heart. Her face still looked chalky-pale, there was still darkness under her eyes, and the lack of sun hadn't helped. But she smiled a little, looking up at him with the grey eyes that couldn't fail to hook him. "I'm getting there."

"You'll make it."

"So what happened to you? Your leg troubles you."

"S'nothing. Stupid troll. He threw me like I was a little whelp, and I hit my back on some sharp rocks. It makes my leg hurt when I move it."

"Damn, that sounds bad, Ushatar."

"You don't wanna be carried, right?"

He was blessed by her smile, and she stood up, ready to go again.

But when she stepped out into the sun, he almost melted for her. She sighed and closed her eyes and tipped her small face to the sky, smiling. She stretched her fingers out and stood into the wind, her thick black hair lifting off her neck. She was tired now, and she took his arm for the rest of the way. He knew that made her a little afraid, and so he used every last bit of body language and signaling he could think of to show her he had no violent intentions, hoping feverishly she could pick up on it.

Ushatar led Tara up one of the hunting trails, but then turned off into the woods to return to a place he'd only seen in twilight. It was a small promontory a short climb above the ground, with a sheer cliff-face behind it: no way for anything to drop down onto them. Yet there were a few rough firs, and enough little nooks against the cliff to hide in, should he need to hide her from danger. As Ushatar thought, in the daytime the place was awash with sunlight and cold, fresh wind. He lifted Tara lightly, quickly, and carried her up the steep trail. He lay his fur blanket over the snow, and sat down beside her.

What did it cost her to sit beside him? Ushatar smelled a light scent of fear, he saw the quickness of her eyes. But after almost a full moon underground, and then Isengard before that, Tara was overwhelmed with joy for the sun and sky. Her entire face shown with it, and Ushatar realized then that she wasn't just beautiful but radiant. He was sure he didn't deserve to be beside her, and yet he could be no where else ever again.

"What was it like there for you?" Tara asked, and Ushatar knew at once she meant Isengard.

"Uhmm," he murmured, stalling. "Well… I slept in a cell like- but with forty-nine other Uruk-hai."

"Your battle brothers?"

Ushatar laughed darkly. "Uh… No, not really. Wasn't like that, in Isengard. There were some… all right Orcs, and a few Uruk-hai, but I had to watch my back every moment."

"There were many fights," she said. The wind caught her hair, blew it back. Ushatar saw his mark and his breath quickened.

"There were fights all the time. Nothing better to do, I guess. It'd be bad, too, because the guards wouldn't unlock the gate. Those fuck—those Uruks could go all night long. And if you got pulled in—or, um, jumped in—you had to fight like a devil to stay on top. Get sucked to the bottom you're done fifty different ways. Well, forty-nine, I guess."

He heard a soft catch of breath in her teeth. She did not look at him. "Rape, too?" she asked, refusing to let her voice quiver.

Well, he coud be strong too. "Sure. A lot. But only that one time—um—"

Ushatar switched his eyes to her, and she nodded, sparing him. Which, he thought, he surely didn't deserve.

"Was that why you were locked away in punishment?" she asked, surprising him.

Ushatar felt his chest tighten, just thinking about it. He clenched his fist a little and said, "I killed the ones held me down. The one that—Dolpan—he got away. And then he ratted me out for killing, and I got fifteen days in the dar-daghum. That's when you got sick, and those fuckers—sorry—they told me they were doing stuff to you, then they were gonna kill you and feed you to me, shit like that. It was a little box of stone and I couldn't move, I was in the dark, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. When I got out, I took you and ran."

Her breath quickened as he spoke, and Ushatar said, "I didn't mean to remind you of it."

Tara closed her eyes, searching for peace. She shook her head, as if shaking it away. But her arms circled her belly again, as if she couldn't make up her mind to let it go or keep it.

"It's a lot better here, right?" he asked hopefully. Still nothing. "Do you like the Orcs now, a little?"

Nothing. Ushatar's heart shattered. "How did I fuck up, Tara?" he asked her softly. "I mean, other than everything… Did I say something bad just now?"

She sniffed a little, wiped at her eye and tried to pretend she was fixing her hair, which broke his heart in its sweetness.

"Ushatar," Tara said quietly. He loved the way his name rolled off her tongue. "I'm not mad at you right now. Not for talk. It's a lot for me to hear, that's all. I asked, you answered. And you can say fuckers with me. I thought you'd seen that of me by now."

Tara turned to him then, and smiled, and Ushatar's breath ran out in a ragged sigh of relief. "I like the Orcs," she said, her voice suddenly full of warmth. "They're far different from my own people, and I understand these folk are under law and most are not. But they've been kind to me. They've helped me get better in a way my people wouldn't have. And they love life, and their families… and the little dagu. I am sorry that…" she looked anxiously to the east, where even now it seemed there was a swelling smudge of darkness, a mar on the sunny day. She whispered, "I am sorry their kind—your kind—are enslaved by that. I am sorry he made you, and bent you to his wickedness without giving you a say."

Ushatar wanted to bring her down to the ground at that moment. He wanted to run his hands over her hips and breasts, he wanted to brush her lips with his fingertips and breathe in her breath. He wanted her to take him in and hold him inside her; he wanted to claim her and hear her moan his name, as Urauk whispered that Daumani had when he marked her the first time. Ushatar caught his breath—somewhat—and told her, "I don't want to talk bad—fuckers—in front of you, Tara. I don't want to talk of bad things with you."

But this displeased her, and her smile was whisked away. He'd gone too far. Ushatar wondered if maybe she'd picked up on his thoughts. He knew when a female was fertile, and now after living with the Orcs he knew what one smelt like aroused, which was delicious and intriguing to Ushatar, who never knew a female could want it. But now he feared, could Tara, could her kind, pick up on things like that?

She closed her eyes and put her face into the sun, and did not speak again, and then Ushatar carefully guided her home. He had to lift her down from the promontory, and she was tense and stiff in his arms. She took his arm and leaned on him—which he savored—but it was out of necessity. Then, when they reached the cave, she stopped and looked up at him.

She didn't seem to know what to say at first. Then, she pressed her lips together—a small, tight, nervous smile, nothing like the one she'd shown in the sunlight, speaking of liking Orcs. "Thank you, Ushatar. Truly. I needed this, like water."

"I will take you again, whenever you want. Tomorrow, if you like."

"Maybe not tomorrow," Tara breathed, shaking her head a little. "A few days… maybe. I don't know right now."

"S'okay," he replied softly. "Come on, let me help you back. You must be hungry and thirsty."

"Always," she said, frowning a little at the thought. Tears rose in her eyes, and she said, "It's so hard, Ushatar. I don't want to be pregnant. I don't want to give birth, I don't want a baby…"

"I know, Tara," he breathed, "I know and I'm so sorry..."

He smelled her fear, metallic on his tongue, and he realized that he'd never given any thought to how the dag would come out. He cringed, looking at her little, breakable body. He put his arm around her back, lightly first, letting her feel the heat of him before he touched her, and he was a little frightened by how much she collapsed into him after the long walk. Wishing he could carry her, Ushatar guided Tara as gently—and supportively—as he could back down to the caverns. Dozens of pairs of eyes pretended not to look as Ushatar brought Tara into her small cavern. She sat quietly on her blankets as he stoked the fire, left to fetch her some of the fish he'd caught and prepared, then placed a plate and cup of cool water by the side of her bed.

"Your knife," she said, fumbling with the buckle. Suddenly, there was a frightening weakness in her fingers, bringing a frown to Ushatar's face that he quickly wiped away. "Thank you again," she said, smiling at him in an almost friendly, heart tugging way.

"I'll see you, Tara," Ushatar said, smiling softly, and taking his leave of her.