Sorry this one took so long! I've been unexpectedly busy. (Plus I never write anything in order, and what I had was a beginning and half a middle with some gaps in it, and kind of an ending. This is where that beginning left off.)

"Oh, shit," said the Orc who just dropped out of the tree. She looked a bit more gaunt than the last time Razashûk had seen her, but there was no mistaking her. "Didn't recognize you, what with the lack of whining and your buddy blocking the view. You get a pass. I'm not a monster." She sheathed her sword, hunched down and untied the ropes snarled around Razashûk, then turned her attention towards his companion. "Who's this, anyway? A bounty or something? He doesn't look too broken up about it."

Razashûk got up and brushed the dust off himself. "This is my cousin, Ushûl," he said, frowning at the ground and flapping an arm in her general direction. "Ushûl, this is Durgrat."

She made an exaggerated curtsy motion and grinned up at them. Some horrible person, possibly Ushûl herself, had carved up the sides of her mouth into a sort of permanent rictus, and in combination with a real smile the effect was truly unsettling.

"Is this one of those family rituals I've been tragically deprived of, then?" Durgrat asked, shaking the failed trap off his foot.

"No, 'Toll Collector' was this fucking stupid game we played when we were children. It was barely even a game, really. The rules as such were that if you had something Ushûl wanted, she'd get in your way and kick the crap out of you until you gave it up." He shot a withering glance at her, pained by the memory of so many trinkets and food scraps cruelly wrenched from him forever. "Apparently she's made a career of it. I suppose some people never grow up."

"Ah, come on, Raz. I wouldn't have said it if I knew it was you. You'd never have anything valuable."

Oh, just you wait... Razashûk crossed his arms and huffed.

Durgrat was only vaguely familiar with the concept of children, his knowledge mainly consisting of "They're very small" and "I don't think I've ever seen one", but thought better of asking any questions for the moment.

"What are you doing all the way over here, anyway? Thought you were busy with the usual. And seriously, why have you got an Isengarder in tow?"

"It's complicated," he replied.

"Then allow me to make amends by offering you shelter, and you can tell me all about it," she said. "It's not much, but the wind's picking up and it beats freezing to death."

She led them to a tiny old ramshackle house just off the path, concealed by a thick cluster of ferns and saplings taking over what used to be a clearing. From outside it looked like it could tip over if someone farted too close to it, but the inside was cozier than Razashûk expected, and it only had a few drafty spots where the boards didn't quite meet. It was clearly of Mannish design, with glass windows, a rough stone fireplace, and a square table with a tattered cloth on it in the center of the front room. The floor was partly covered by a round rug that looked like it might have had a pattern in it once, since faded and stomped into oblivion by countless boot prints.

"Nice, eh? I found it like this. Didn't look like anyone had touched it in ages, but it's still good." Ushûl swatted at the wall to prove its sturdiness.

"Are you sure you didn't kick some unfortunate geezer's shinbones into splinters for it?"

She shoved him on the shoulder and then gestured towards the table. "You look hungry. Sit yourselves down."

At that, she turned away towards a large sack next to the fireplace. Razashûk was grateful for her finally showing some good manners, and not wasting his time with "How's your mum?" and other pointless chatter. She knew perfectly well that his silence on the matter meant his family was, as always, doing just fine and making him look like rubbish in comparison to the rest of them.

"You're lucky. I just caught this today," she said, hefting a large dead badger. "It'll still be nice and bloody."

She chopped at it with a worn, heavy-looking cleaver while she hummed tunelessly to herself. When it was gutted and divided up to her satisfaction, she glanced over at her cousin. "So, what exactly are you up to?"

"I'm going to Mordor, you know, see how far the tarks made it, and pick over corpses. I hired Durgrat to carry my stuff."

She looked suspicious (most likely at the idea of Razashûk having money, let alone giving it to anyone else) but played along. "That's interesting."

"I could say the same of you. This whole setup feels awfully...un-Orclike."

"Not really. It's dark and cool most of the time here, and the trees don't bother me too much. I think they got used to me, and caught on that I'm here alone, and not going to swing an axe at them. I like it here. I thought of starting a farm."

He nearly spat. "A fucking farm, seriously? The quaint little shack wasn't sickening enough?"

"Yeah, a spider farm." She continued, nonchalant, as she fidgeted with a handful of roots Razashûk didn't recognize, snapping off the rotten bits at the ends. "Not those big fuckoff bastards you hear horrible stories about, I mean like the little fuzzy ones you can hold in your hand. I just can't figure out how to get them to stay in one place. If I knew what makes them want to build webs in a certain spot, it'd be a whole lot easier."

"Why exactly would you want to farm spiders?"

"They eat everything I hate. Flies, ants, moths..." Ushûl trailed off as she noticed Durgrat staring at them both.

"How rude of me," she said. "So, uh, what's your deal, big'un?"

After the mixture of badger chunks and mystery roots and the Great Eye only knows what else was completed to Ushûl's satisfaction, they ended up sitting on the floor huddled around the fireplace, since those drafty spots were getting more insufferable as the evening wore on. And Ushûl had been trying her best to indicate through gestures while Durgrat had his back turned that she was afraid he'd break her treasured decrepit chairs if he moved wrong. Even Razashûk's wiry frame was enough to make them creak in a disconcerting way.

Razashûk was disarmed by how tolerable his cousin was being, and the food was delightful, though he didn't say so because he didn't want to give her the satisfaction, and he'd just end up sounding sarcastic anyway. Besides, Ushûl was busy, apparently dead-set on picking through every disused wrinkle of Durgrat's brain.

"You don't like fighting much, then? You must not have been too popular with that crowd," she said, digging a stray shred of meat out of her front teeth with a neatly trimmed claw.

"Sha! It wasn't that bad. I had a friend once," said Durgrat. "No, wait. I had two friends. Well, one of them wasn't so much a friend as a stoat that I trained to flip and roll over, and my other friend ate him."

"What happened to your other friend?" Ushûl asked, failing to suppress a giggle.

"He left and never came back."

It was her turn to stare silently in discomfort. Razashûk pretended to study the fire.

After a few moments when it became clear Durgrat wasn't going to start sobbing into his hands or mournfully eulogizing at the ceiling or any other fancy Mannish-tinged nonsense, she perked up again. "What's it like living in a place with no women, anyway?"

There was a glint in her eye that set Razashûk on edge. He hoped this line of questioning wasn't going where he suspected. He'd heard enough stories about what a den of non-stop buggery Isengard supposedly was, and while the thought was entertaining, he'd prefer not to discuss it here now with Ushûl. Or anywhere with her, ever.

Thankfully the conversation was turned around without any nudging from him. "Nah, we had some. Not many, granted. I don't think Sharkey meant to make them, it just...happened. The thing is, they blend in and you can't really tell the difference unless you check their crotch." He paused. "That's not advisable. Saw a guy nearly lose his arm once."

Ushûl snorted.

"I kind of wish he had," said Durgrat. "He was a shitheel."

Ushûl reached over and patted him on the shoulder. When Durgrat turned to look at her, she nodded her head and gave him a nice big disfigured smile. "I like you."

He shot a triumphant look at Razashûk.

"Nice try. You're still on my shit list, just a lot further down now," Razashûk told Ushûl.

"Look, all right, I'm sorry I took that one dead sparrow twenty years ago and scarred you for life."

It was the closest thing to a sincere apology he was ever going to squeeze out of her, so he gave a grunt of acceptance and continued stuffing his face. He was just grateful she didn't bring up any of the other games they played, like "Will It Burn?" or "Practice Groping and Get Yelled At".

Ushûl had offered them the spare room to sleep in. She called it a combination guest bedroom and storage room, which was a quite diplomatic way of describing a nasty old mattress hemmed in by a bunch of broken junk. It was all terrible enough that Durgrat didn't want to bother liberating anything from the heap. He wasn't going to complain, though. It was good to be surrounded by walls again after being battered by the elements for so long.

He looked over at the Razashûk, who was fussing around with various belongings. Razashûk and his amusing lack of patience reminded him of the scrawny snaga in the pits, sweltering away at the forges and digging up Uruk-hai when they were ready, or close enough to it. The smaller Orcs generally didn't bother him, if they noticed him. It was his kin who always stirred up the most shit.

He could handle it. It was just that punching someone, satisfying as it could be, wasn't terribly shrewd, and he aimed to leave a more lasting mark, as it were. Having a pile of coins big enough to roll around in like a pig seemed a better revenge than anything.

He was charmed by how Razashûk had trusted him so readily, and felt a slight pang of regret at that "don't flatter yourself" business when they'd first met. If they got killed before they reached their destination, or they got there and the treasure hoard was already ransacked, it would've been nice to at least get some dick out of the deal. He had no idea when he'd next meet someone he could put up with who'd stay by his side, or more importantly, someone who could put up with him.

He was glad their hostess was patient enough. Ushûl was strange, and he didn't quite understand her affinity for tiny crawling creatures with far too many legs, nor where she drew the lines over which ones were acceptable and which ones were disgusting. Still, she was refreshingly gregarious, and stealing an entire house was pretty impressive, even if it was just sitting there unguarded.

Durgrat sat down on the bed, testing it, not that he really expected it to be comfortable. The small, cramped room was hardly ideal, but something about it reassured him and reminded him of more familiar places. He missed the heat and noise. He missed the thrill of romance, of having someone give you a quick once-over and decide "Yeah, you'll do for tonight." Being in an enclosed space with something on fire nearby was good enough for now. Compared to the ugly lifeless grasslands, it was almost like home, before the forest uprooted itself and the water surged in and the world became huge, cold, and empty.

Razashûk was punching at the bed, trying to sort all the lumps into a more hospitable arrangement. Durgrat was, as usual, not helping. He poked around at the assortment of items shoved into the corners, dragging his fingers through the dust and squinting in confusion at why any of it was deemed worth saving. "Half a shovel. Who keeps half a shovel?"

"You just met her," said Razashûk. He plopped backwards in defeat, then squirmed sideways when he realized what an uncomfortable spot he was in.

"She's kind of smart, though, underneath all that." He turned away from the rubble and watched Razashûk throw a heavy pillow aside onto the floor. It landed with a dull thud that sounded as if it was full of padded bricks. "Shouldn't you have noticed her traps?"

"I said I was a hunter. I never said I was a fantastic hunter. And usually I do the trapping, so it wouldn't have crossed my mind."

Durgrat seemed satisfied with that answer, and lay down, making an obvious effort not to take up the entire space. He stared up at the ceiling with a bit more intensity than Razashûk was comfortable with.

"Durgrat."

"What?"

"Shut up now, because I'm going to sleep. This time, no wanking right next to me."

His face fell a bit. "Oh. Yeah, that was thoughtless of me. Did you want to watch or join in? I should've asked."

"Wow, smooth," said Razashûk. "Tell me, what was your job back in Isengard again? Were you a courtesan, expertly trained in the intricate art of seduction?"

Durgrat made a rude gesture, and Razashûk silently accepted that he probably deserved it. It wasn't as if he was any good at that sort of thing, either.

So when he stirred in his fitful sleep a few hours later and found the slumbering Uruk curled around his back, he mentally grumbled at how apparently Mr. Mighty Uruk-hai still assumed everyone would want to at least snuggle with him, because of course they did, because his lot were so much better than us regular peasants...

But he was big and warm, and his breath wasn't too foul or anything as it fluttered against the back of Razashûk's head. He probably wasn't even old enough to have any rotten teeth yet, Razashûk realized with an odd touch of discomfort.

Durgrat mumbled something unintelligible and shifted his hips, and Razashûk froze. It felt as if there was a cudgel pressing into his spine. He supposed he'd be kind of a selfish twit about it too, if he had something like that to play with.

Razashûk woke up at the crack of noon, his body rested and his mind relieved that Durgrat had already gotten up and left him alone. He gathered up his things and found the Uruk in the front room, packing a few small parcels of food Ushûl had wrapped up for them.

It was a perfect afternoon for traveling, with a gentle breeze rustling through the canopy and the sky still gloomy with slate-grey clouds. Ushûl was just outside the doorway, untangling a handful of the rope she'd caught them with. She offered to tell him the quickest route out of the forest, but the previous night he'd accidentally let slip he had a map, and she wanted to check it. There was no way he was going to let her in on this.

"Just let me peek at it."

"I'd rather not."

"Why? If I wanted to beat you up and take it, I would've already, if that's what you're worried about. All your crappy stuff is safe from the Toll Collector. I don't need a map of where I already live."

"Uh, it's really old. Look at those claws of yours. One slip and it'll be in shreds."

"Fine," she said, rolling her eyes.

He crouched down and drew a reasonable facsimile in the dirt.

"Ah, we're right about here." She marked a spot on the map with a stick. "I know a trail that should let you cut through fairly quick," she said, dragging a faint line over it. "And then turn here." She swiped sideways. "If you see a big boulder that looks like a tit, you've gone too far. I mean, you should go see it, because it's funny. There's a nipple made of lichen and everything. But it's off your path."

She paused. "Oh, and be careful along this part. There's thorny bushes everywhere, and they'll scrape you up if you're not paying attention. Stupid things don't even have the courtesy to make up for it and grow berries or anything."

"Maybe you can build some spider cages out of them."

"Shut up!"

Durgrat sauntered out into the clearing, and Razashûk took this as a sign it was time to leave. He scrawled a copy of Ushûl's notations onto the map ("Shortcut. Thorns. Enormous tit.") and then quickly stashed it away again.

"Well, we ought to be going," he said. He wavered a moment and then choked out a "Thanks," despite himself.

"Try not to get killed," said Ushûl, once again fiddling with her snares.

They set off. Ushûl and her house faded into the distance, overtaken by the haze hanging near the ground. Razashûk inhaled deeply, savoring both the damp air and the relief of having got this far without any grievous misfortune. The forest wasn't a complete nightmare after all, and certain threats had diminished quite a bit with the passage of time. Certain other things were still rather annoying but turned out to have huge cocks. There really were important lessons all over the place on these sort of journeys. Heartened by the dark little clouds of hope hovering over him, Razashûk strode out into the murky depths of the forest, positive that the worst it had to offer was behind them.