****Author's note****

It's my birthday so enjoy this chapter early as a gift from me to you!

30

Multiple days wore on, with Ar-Tashk leading further and further away from Nurnen. What Alaesia had believed was going to end as had all their previous hunting trips was turning into a journey with no end in sight. Her feet were worn nearly raw, and her limbs leaden from the endless marching. A building sense of dread settled in her stomach waiting for the moment he would finally decide to return to the fort. She didn't want to think about how demanding the return journey would be; coming as far as they had, had been hard enough already.

The chains binding her proved heavier with each hour that Ar-Tashk was insistent to keep moving until she was completely exhausted. She didn't protest, waiting to see what exactly he was up to, while keeping mostly silent. From her dissociated observations, a pattern began to catch Alaesia's attention; he only seemed willing to stop when he had fresh rations in hand or when she was undeniably too tired to take even one more step. At least as an outcast and her enslavement by Ku'Gohn, she had lived in one general area near the Black Gate. Never had she had to march for hours on end like this, like some soldier. Yet, as she expected, the olog seemed inexhaustible. Whatever reserves of energy he was drawing upon, she couldn't fathom.

The landscape around the duo was rocky and uninviting. Every so often they would crest a hill where from Alaesia could occasionally spot the bends of a broad, shimmering river. Ar-Tashk seemed to be following the course of the river upstream, only staying at a respectable distance from its shores. One time, upon seeing the river, Alaesia noticed great big swaths of fabric and massive wooden posts creeping between the hills, and the sight brought a vivid memory crashing back down on her.

"Git 'em onboard sharpish-like you rotten lot of toadies!" A particularly warty orc crowed at the new boss', Ku'Gohn's, lackies. "We got a long way to go, an' I ain't keen on setting out any later than midday!" The orc tilted his head respectfully at the Gourmet as he climbed the gangplank onto the deck, "It's a pleasure to be hauling your greedy gut if I do say so myself, brother. You always keep my pockets lined with gold, booze, and finery!"

"There will be more where that came from now tha' I've taken command of course, Frogblood. This is just the start. Ye wait 'n see. Tha' uruk scum from the desert that took the fort in Nurn ain't gonna know what hit him, an' once the fort is ours, you can sit back and let yer crews do all the slave running for ya. We'll get ya a fleet o' ships. So, in the mean time, keep your slavers around to catch me some proper meals, eh?" Ku'Gohn guffawed, sending spittle flying. He eyed his own line of slaves, mixed of both orc snaga and tarks alike, as they were brought aboard Frogblood's vessel by his own newly acquired underlings. Alaesia kept her head low near the back of the line as she was marched across the deck, but she was stopped by a crook-staff latching onto her shoulder.

Frogblood pulled the human woman briefly aside, and used his staff's hooked end to shove her around as he gave her an appraising glance up and down. "Yer sure none of these tarks are carryin' any diseases, though, Ku? Last thing I wan' is them infecting my own stock."

The weedy, thin orc waved his bony hand dismissively, "Sure I am, an' if they ain't clean, I'll buy any of your stock tha' falls ill on my account! Just more snacks for the road, eh? Hahaha!"

Frogblood snorted and raised an eyebrow, "Will ya now? I suppose I better want for them to be sick then! Nurn's a good ways off, and landlubbering types dun't keep well on the water. I might just make a fortune off you this time!" He shifted his crook up so it latched around Alaesia's throat, drawing her close and grinning. She could smell the swampish stench of his breath as he spoke, "Ay, girlie, you'll do a favor for ol' Frogblood won'tcha? Yer scrawny and sickly looking enough. There's a sickness in ya, right? Go cough n' sneeze on my slaves, I wouldn't mind cutting off a few for a deal with Ku before even leavin' port!"

Alaesia watched unanswering, having quickly learned to bite her tongue in orcs' presence as evidenced by a good number of bruises she now sported across her skin for speaking out against her new master. One in particular, blackened over a swollen eye, throbbed as she tried to resist the strain of the hook around her neck. Ku'Gohn roll his eyes at Frogblood and deftly disarmed the ship's captain. He extracted her from the loop of the hook and pushed her back in line with the other slaves, "Shove it, Frogblood, you ain't turning this into a highway robbery. Just get me back to Nurn in one piece and I'll make sure yer handsomely rewarded."

Frogblood elbowed Ku'Gohn and waved his hand towards the crew to proceed with taking the slaves below deck, "Right, right, little brother, but I assume ya've got a grand feast planned, fer celebratin' of course… an' I'm invited eh?"

"Sure, but its a bring your own eats kind of party. I ain't sharing."

"Yer a greedy pig, ya know that?"

The voices of the two orcs became muffled as Alaesia was tugged by her new chains and shackles down a steep ladder and into the dark belly of the ship. The last thing she saw before arriving in Nurn, when she looked up through the grating was a great tall mast, adorned with dark tattered sails.

Those same kinds of sails were unmistakably familiar to the slave when she saw them coasting along the river. She had been kept in the hull of the same type of ship for days on end, only able to look up through some grating to see the sails blot out the sky. She could only surmise the vessels trawling the river now must slave ships as well.

After Ku'Gohn the Gourmet had captured her, shortly after taking command of his ex-boss' warband, he had hired his blood brother's slave ship to both transport his newly acquired band of orcish warriors, and provide the main course for his celebratory feast. Of the thirteen slaves Ku'Gohn had disembarked from the slave ship when it arrived in Nurn, only nine lived past Ku'Gohn's celebratory feast. When Ar-Tashk had attacked Ku'Gohn's camp, there were only three of the original group of slaves. After Ar-Tashk had taken her for himself, she never saw the other two slaves again. Alaesia was almost certain she was the only one still alive by now. The thought made her shiver.

It seemed Ar-Tashk was well aware of the ships, and he made a special point to stay low in the dips between hills, especially whenever sails could be seen passing along on the river. His behavior surprised Alaesia, but she couldn't have known why; the mindsets of orcs and ologs was a complete mystery to her.

In reality, slavers simply never really cared who they took as their cargo or where their captives were taken from, as long as they could turn a profit. Some were even so bold as to steal back the very same slaves that they had just sold, so they could double or triple their earnings. No one was exempt from being turned into slaves, save those who fought back hard enough. Humans, orcs, and even ologs that could be brought to heel, were prime targets for slavers.

Powerful as Ar-Tashk himself might be, a lone olog with a slave woman would both be at risk of enslavement if they were spotted. The opportunistic nature of slavers could not be assuaged and the wound of his hand would be their downfall if slavers found them now; Ar-Tashk could hardly hunt, let alone defend himself, or his slave in his current state.

It would be worse yet if the olog was identified, so far from his assigned station at the fort in Nurn. By now, the fort was likely in the throes of chaos, with both the overlord and his loyal dog both having suddenly disappeared without a trace. Undoubtedly, there would be plenty of warriors vying for the position of ruling the fortress. Just as when Vezhir and Ar-Tashk had originally taken the fort, there was sure to be a bloodbath in the void of authority. If it was discovered that Ar-Tashk was alive, and had abandoned his post, he'd be branded a traitor and enslaved; that is, if he wasn't just have bounty placed on his head or sentenced to death on the spot.

Ar-Tashk had never given much thought to when he had seen slaves of any race. It was just a sight so common, it never occurred to him to question why there were any slaves of the Dark Lord's orcs at all. Now, with the possible threat of enslavement sailing along the nearby river, he couldn't help but wonder if any of the orcish slaves he had seen in the past had been sentenced to such a fate for caring for a human slave as he was now doing. If that were the case then perhaps not all orcs or ologs were as hungry for tender human flesh as he had instinctively presumed. Perhaps he was not alone in his newfound fascination in pinkskins, or at least in this case, one particular pinkskin.

Ar-Tashk knew his preoccupation with his slave was not normal, or at least not something any orc would willing admit to. He had been stripped of something so integral to his identity, simply by taking in a single slave for less than a season; it made him feel somewhat lost, like a bird tossed about by a storm. The anger, the buzzing, that at one time had coursed through his veins, once so constant that he never really noticed it was there, was cooled and gentled in his slave's soft presence. It felt right to be near her; like a nest he could retreat to for shelter. For once, it didn't make him feel weak to not be in a state of aggression, nor did he feel like he had to put on any warrior's airs to intimidate his enemies. He could simply be, while in her presence.

That mindless bloodlust, like a nest of angry morgai flies, had dissipated; though he still wouldn't have minded throwing himself into harm's way again and again, if it meant having her care for him. He had always been called a loyal dog for his subservience to Vezhir, but what he felt now for the slave woman far outweighed any bonds he had had with the uruk. He thought back to the question of whether he would submit to the slave woman, like a caragor might submit to a beast tamer; finding himself finally willing to answer.

Her feather-like touch had become like a drug to the olog. Though she hadn't allowed him to carry her since immediately following the incident in the caves, she would occasionally stumble into him and use his bulky frame to catch herself while traversing the rough terrain. He hungered for even the slightest amount of contact with her. When she had taken the time to treat and bind his wounds, he found himself craving nothing more than to care for her in return. It was an all-consuming need that took a hold of his mind. She was his slave, all his, and he wanted to keep her alive and well, just for himself; once his mind had been filled with fantasies of torturing her as she pled for her own life, but those visions had long since vanished from his mind.

Just as she was studying him in the silent moments between them, so to was Ar-Tashk studying her. With the buzzing quieted, he could see and think with much greater clarity than ever before. It didn't take him long to realize, if he didn't approach her, she'd stay closer to him. But that was much easier said than done. While on the move, she would stay as far as he would allow her chain to stretch. At night, he would often have to curb the desire to take her in his arms; any time he moved toward her, she would cautiously hedge away from him which stung worse than any injury.

There was an unspoken hope that had rooted itself in the back of Ar-Tashk's mind, that if he gave her space, perhaps she might approach him of her own volition. He wanted to feel the vivid fire of her red hair between his fingers once more, to have the poison green of her eyes meet his own, and to have her corpse-frail body rest against his chest while holding her in his arms. Everything about her was like a reflection of the brutalities of Mordor in the most intoxicatingly beautiful, and bewildering way; and yet, she was nothing like Mordor, and the allure of that mystery drew him in like a predator following a scent.

To his chagrin, she kept her distance whenever given slack on her chains, like like could sense his hungering. The olog knew he could easily take her in his grip, forcibly hold her close, yet after having had her intentionally seek him out in the cave, because she had done so free of force, that was all he could think about. He wanted her to want him, he needed it, as much as his senses needed him to breathe. So, he let her have her space, hoping that at some point, she would come to him.

From his distance, over the past few days, Ar-Tashk had observed his slave's physical condition slowly improving in some ways. At the same time, he could see her gaunt frame beginning to fill in with muscle once more. Her eyes were no longer sunken in dark sockets, and her cheeks no longer were hollow and shadowed. The tone of her arms and legs was fuller and stronger. Where marked with bruises, her skin was turning a tell-tell yellow color as the mottling healed. Her wounds, both old and newer, were knitting back together into bold red scars, complimenting the silvery scar tissue from all the older wounds he had previously cauterized.

As her many marks were fading, Ar-Tashk often found himself gazing in admiration at how fierce and feral the stripes of her scars made her look; it was strangely beautiful, not unlike a wild cat. It wasn't a significant change, but she no longer looked like she was on the brink of death. The improvement encouraged the olog to hunt more often, wanting to ensure she was well fed.

Even as she was healing, he could feel his own injuries mending; Alaesia's rabbit skin bandages had worked well to protect the raw flesh of his hand, and it no longer oozed a constant stream of blood, however it was evident that the damage was severe. In spite of his accelerated healing capabilities, it was a struggle to uncurl his fingers. Without two functioning hands, wielding his ballista would be impossible. He knew he'd have to keep trying, or their only major means of defense, and survival, would be useless. He knew he was lucky she had even come up with a way to treat the wound. Orc 'medics' would have just lopped the injured limb off and replaced it with an iron prosthetic, if they thought he was even worth saving in the first place.

Another lingering trouble that nagged at the back of Ar-Tashk's mind: the sporadic bleeding that Alaesia suffered. Throughout the days following the cave and the birth of her whelp, she'd often have to stop and rest due to the horrendous pain that gripped her gut, often signaling the expulsion of massive clots of blood. Each time the wave of pain passed over her, her steps would falter, and Ar-Tashk would hold tight on her chains to keep her from falling over or collapsing. He'd watch helplessly from a distance as Alaesia would curl in upon herself, fighting back tears from the constrictions that wrung her insides.

The smell of her blood would fill the air, as though taunting the olog; he knew full well, he wasn't the only predator that would be enticed by her bleeding. The last thing Ar-Tashk wanted was for both her and him to be leaving trails that could be easily tracked, cleaning their wounds in the water was the only real solution. Olog blood was, at the least, a deterrent to any would-be predators, but his wounds were healing more quickly than hers, and tark blood was an invitation to dinner.

Because of that, it was the only time he dared to risk approaching the banks of the river. Alaesia desperately needed to rest in the cool waters, and would take the opportunity to clean herself as best she could. There was one or two moments that Alaesia was tempted to try swimming into the current, and letting the waters carry her swiftly away to freedom, but the weight of her chains threatened to pull her into the depths to drown. All the while, at the river's shore, Ar-Tashk would be on edge, tensely watching for any sign of slavers on the river or crawling the banks. Whenever he spotted or sensed so much as a hint of orcs or slave ships, he would withdraw, taking Alaesia with him back into the rocky hills.

****Translations****

Tark - Human, Diminutive

Snaga - Slave

Pinkskin - Human