The words in bold will be when he speaks, cause I don't know any Orkish. So when you see bold, he's speaking his language. Thank you all so much for favoriting and following and reviewing, it all means so much to me.

II. there's definitely no logic/to human behaviour/but yet so irresistible/there is no map/to human behavior

It had taken her an hour after she left him to stop her hands from shaking. She cursed herself and berated herself for being stupid enough to have helped the orc, as though he would have showed her the same kindness had he been the one to find her. She knew what he would have done, what he wanted to do; a young maiden in the forest, there was so much he would've done to her had he been able. And so she cursed herself, cleaning the blood from her dress and hands, willing him out of her mind. She did not notice that she thought of the orc as a he, a person, rather than it, a thing – a monster. If she had left the orc without helping him she would have slept restless and guilty, but when she laid her head down that night she fell into a peaceful slumber.

She convinced herself the next day that he would be fine, he was an orc – it would be a fool who went near him. A fool like herself. It was harder to convince herself that he would be well the day after, for the gash on his leg – which had taken both her hands to cover – would take a few days to heal even with the healing herb she'd put on it. And in all truth, new leaves needed to be chewed and his wound recovered. But still she did not go, she stayed in her and her father's home and busied herself; her father was work enough, it had been one of the days when he'd refused to get out of his bed - "you look just like her," her father had said, his hands on her face and a strange look in his eye.

So when she woke on the third day after she'd helped him she put on her cloak, grabbed a fishing net, and made for the river.

He smelled her before he heard her, though it was not her his ravenous nose smelled – it was the fish. He released his hold on his mace when he saw her pretty face, staring at the plate in her hand with desperate eyes; he had tried to stand many times the two days before but he did no more fall, and dragging his leg on the ground hurt worse for it tore the scabs open.

She had barely placed the plate in his lap before he grabbed a fish and began devouring it; it was revolting to watch him eat for he cared little to remove the bones. All she had done was cook the fish on a frying pan, thinking he would pick the flesh off but no, he ate all of it. She turned away with a wrinkled nose before making her way through the forest, looking for the leaves she'd found for him before.

He had finished the other fish when she returned and he sat watching as she knelt once more at his side and inspected his leg. Her hands were small, such tiny things he could easily break with his own. They were soft on his leg, and he growled slightly when her fingers pressed around the cut.

She looked up at him briefly before back at his leg, knowing peeling the dried leaves would hurt. She flinched when he let loose a stream of curses, growling in his deep voice as she picked the leaves out. Her heart nearly stopped at the feel of his large hand around her wrist, at feeling her bones shifting beneath her skin.

"Leave it be," he ordered her, feeling a fire spreading through his entire leg. She did not understand him.

"I have to put new ones on, you will heal faster," she told him, trying to pull her wrist from his grasp. He did not know what she said, nor did she get free.

And so they sat staring at each other, unable to say anything the other would understand. He released her wrist, seeing she did not like him touching her, and he watched her closely as her breathing calmed.

She wanted him gone, she did not want to come back to find him here the next day; and so she picked another scabbed-over leaf. He roared in outrage and made to grab her again.

"No," she said loudly stilling him. She looked at him, her heart hammering in her chest from how afraid she was, staring at him as he stared at her shocked.

That was a word he knew, one he could not believe she had just said to him. He stared at her with hard eyes, wanting nothing more than to rip her throat out with his teeth – but he didn't, she had helped him and given him food. So he sat leaning forward glaring at her, waiting for what she'd do next.

It did not cross her mind that he was an orc, that he was far larger than her and could hurt her with only one hand; none of that dawned on her when she resumed picking the leaves out – he was being stubborn and she was almost done, and her patience was wearing thin.

He snarled as he reached for her, planning to throw her against a tree, but he felt the slight sting of her hand on his as she slapped him. He sat back with wide eyes staring at her utterly shocked and appalled. He could not believe she'd struck him, that she'd had the nerve. He was stupefied, so much so that he hardly moved when she finished pulling the old leaves out; he did nothing more but lean against the tree and stare at her.

She wiped her hands on her skirt when she finished and looked up to see him watching her curiously. "You were being stubborn," she told him before she put some leaves in her mouth and began to chew.

It stung when she pressed them into the wound, which had healed greatly in the two days, but not as much as when she first put them on him. He did not know what she had just said, he did not speak Westros, but he liked the sound of her voice; it was not shrill as most women's were – though he'd only ever made women scream and cry – it was sweet and kind. And it was as pretty as her face, which was young and just as sweet.

She pressed the leaves into the wound, hearing him grunt in pain, and looked up at him. "You would have been able to leave today if I had done this yesterday," she told him softly, seeing in his eyes that he did know the words she spoke. She looked warily at his hand when he raised it, watching as he moved toward her, fear wrapped its tendrils around her heart as she waited for what he would do.

He took a stray curl, feeling her breast brush against his hand from how deep her breathing had become, and he raised the hair to his nose. Each human had their own scent; she smelled of flowers, but there was something underneath it that could only be described as her – he was not surprised it was a sweet smell. He leaned toward her, smelling the fear on her now, and pressed his nose against her chest. Her chest was nearly heaving from how short her breaths were, and felt her breasts soft against his neck as he moved his nose to her neck. He could nearly smell the life in her, young and viable, and he wanted her – a light growl, sounding more a purr, sounded in the back of his throat.

She was on her feet immediately and stepping back so he could not reach her. He chuckled darkly as he leaned back against the tree, now having her scent saved to memory.

"You can leave tomorrow," she told him, her voice shaky and her breathing coming in short pants. She looked to see he didn't understand and she sighed as she thought of how to tell him so he would. She looked around her. "The sun," she said pointing at him, waiting until he looked to where she was pointing and then back at her, "goes down," she lowered her hand in a motion of going down, "and then comes up," she raised her hand, "and you leave," she said making a shooing gesture.

He seemed to understand, as much as she thought he was going to; in all honesty she simply wanted to leave, she wanted him to leave too. She turned her back on him and made for the trees, but she stopped once and looked back at him.

He did not know her words but he could piece together her movements to know what she wanted. He watched as she shook her head, and then as she moved her hand as though she were beckoning him, and then she shook her head again. He listened as she walked back through the trees away from him, remembering her delicious smell, and he knew what she'd meant; "don't follow me."

In a week's time he would do just that without realizing it. And it would be her smell that led him to her, that saved her.