I might have panicked had it not been for the heavy sedation I'm waking up from, because I opened my eyes to find myself blind as a bat. Someone had wrapped a blindfold around my head. My body is also dangling from a rod and I'm currently swaying helplessly back and forth. I could have cried for help, but a hunk of rope, tied around my head, had been stuffed into my mouth. I could feel every filthy fiber and couldn't open my mouth any wider if I tried. That left me to scream internally due to the acute sensation of merinthophobia On the flip-side, the people around me thought I was still out like a light, so they spoke candidly in my presence.

 

     “Oi, so whose this cunt supposed to be then?” I heard a man speak up behind me. “Come now now. You haven't said a word to me for a full league now.”

 

After being chased by a band of feral women through the woods dressed like cliche medieval bandits with pig girl cosplay on, the sound of a man at first felt like a relief. There was something familiar about it and I hoped they were at the very least human... They certainly smelled human enough, if someone would believe I could make such a bold proclamation on nothing else. There's also this distinct drawl in his voice, a particular accent, which also seemed so very familiar. That threw me off for long enough and it actually took me a few seconds to be amazed to hear someone actually speak English. Hell, speak anything at all.

 

     “One that almost got away,” a second older sounding man replied in front of me with a sigh.

 

     “Pick up the damn slack and shut up,” A third gruffer man shouted from the side. His voice was followed by the crack of some whip, or perhaps a riding crop. “You almost dropped him just then! We don't wanna wake Prince Charming here out of his beauty sleep.”

 

I couldn't see them, but the distinct pluck in their voices put an image in my head. Rough around the edge, lowbrow, working class and at home in some seedy run down bar chugging watered down piss-water on tap. They kept quiet till the third man's footsteps faded away, punctuated by him yelling at someone else.

 

     “Now you know why I told you to be quiet,” the old man said.

 

     “This blondie? I heard some poor bastard bumbled right into camp. It really him?”

 

     “Yeah, this the one,” the older man chuckled. “What? You didn't get a good gawk earlier?”

 

     “They had me marching in the back all fucking day... What's with this whole getup anyways?”

 

     “Big lady's orders,” the third man menaced, stumbling back into the conversation. “We don't want him pulling another crazy vanishing act. Heard from the miss he'll do if given even an hair's width of a chance. So will you shut up and pick up the damn pace already? Unless you want to camp in the dirt again that is.”

 

     “So we gotta carry him while all get to march? My feet are killing me!”

 

     “I'll kill you myself before that,” The taskmaster growled menacingly” “I suggest you stop your bitching before I lose my patience for good. Unless what you're after isn't answers, but a good pounding, the guy before you got a thrashing from the boss himself for just tripping. I suggest you stay on the lady's good side and keep him away.”

 

An unmistakably nervous gulp came out of the man's throat.

 

     “We carrying him like fresh caught game or something,” an older man grumbled.

 

     “Like a stuck wild boar, the joke ain't lost on me neither, ha!” the gruff man replied with a laugh that continued as he wandered away again.

 

     “Maybe we cut him loose and let him make another run for it?” the young man whispered. “Call for the militia. Hell, maybe even get the Church up here?”

 

     The older man hissed through his teeth to shut the other one up, “He'll be lucky if he can move. That rag is damp with hytpian root juice. Breathe a whiff of that in and you'll be out like a snuffed candle... And keep your voice down, idiot. You don't think these beasts don't know basic Imperial or something?”

 

     “Someone's gotta do something!”

 

     “You really think either of them are gonna send in the goons to go skulking around these woods here for the likes of us?” the old man asked incredulously.

 

     “Maybe for this boy here, yeah. Think about it. He look like some Baron's son, or something. They come looking for him and we tag along with the rescue party.”

 

     “Like hell I'm gonna take a beating for you! These old bones have worked soil since before your mother was a twinkle in her father's eye... Chances are I walk out of here. I'd like to keep my knees strangers to their clubs before that.”

 

     “What the fuck are you babbling about?”

 

     “Ha! You'll see... Besides it's too late now. Look. There's smoke up ahead. We're nearly there.”

 

     “Almighty preserve us,” the young man whimpered.

 

The final destination of this procession must be close. The hubbub of the marching column was muted by the din of a busy little village, or encampment. It escalated in volume to the point I couldn't make out the whispers of the men around me Something earthy filled my sinus too. Whatever liquefied root that this gag was drenched in has faded away, so the scent of fresh mud could replace it. Fresh mud. It didn't smell as if it had rained recently either, so was it by design? I didn't have much time to think on it, because it got nosier real fast. Women were laughing, hooting and hollering with young girls giggling. They crowded around like an audience to a parade. Some basic sounds of industry filled up the spaces between, such as a blacksmith hard at work on the anvil.

 

The sound of fluttering cloth, and the change in lighting, informed me we had passed through some sort of makeshift tent flap. Not long after that I could feel the solid ground under my feet as the pole I'm tied to is planted firmly into the soil. I kept my knees slackened to maintain the illusion I'm still unconscious, but at least I could lean up against the pole instead of dangling by my arms and legs.

 

Separated from the rest of the camp and its many boisterous residents I could hear the frightened whimpering of the other captives. After about five minutes or so a man, sounding very much in charge, came thundering into the tent.

 

     “Welcome, maggots, welcome one and all!”

 

I imagined some sort of motorcycle gang leader with a massive bear gut, but with arms and legs as thick as tree trunks, from his voice alone. It did not take long for the big man himself to show up for the gathering to start shouting in near open revolt.

 

     “Where in the Hells is my boy?” One shouts.

 

     “What did you do with my wife!” Cries another.

 

Over a dozen voices clambering over one another, trying to get one over the others, so they could be answered first. Not a peep came from then newcomer. Perhaps because I could not see it, I was more privy to the sheer boiling anger his very presence radiated. This cramped little tent felt more tense by the second.

 

     “Your wives, sisters, children, mothers, whatever, are being debriefed elsewhere,” the newcomer replied, with something particularly venomous coming off the way he said it. “But consider what you had annulled. We don't care much for your star god's bull shit. As for your sons and daughters, they are safely in the nursery with all the other good little girls. Having a grand old play date right about now.”

 

     “You damn traitor!” A man's voice bellows out from the crowd of captives. “You buy into the Demon's party and dare blaspheme to us?” His voice moved through the tent as he stormed toward the other voice. “You and the rest of your monstrous, foul smelling and—GAH!”

 

I could feel the crack of that fist against bone. The man who had dared to protest had been violently put down. From one part of the tent, flying across quite a few feet into the dirt, nearly to the opposite end.

 

     “That's my woman you are talking shit about,” hissed the ringleader. “Tending to your ugly and shrill wives while our girls see to your boys... It seems you maggots need a lesson in manners... The name's Bruno, but you'll all be calling me Sir. You'll start and end everything you say to me with sir. I hear any different and the only thing you'll be say while be gurgling and choking on your own fucking teeth. Understand?”

 

     “You wont get away with—”

 

Someone spoke out of turn and was interrupted by the impact of boot on what cracked like bone. Since I had been robbed of my sight, the sound of ribs splintering was lost least of all on me. I winced with what few muscles I had regained control of as the sedation had nearly faded away completely by now.

 

     “I ain't here to be your jester, I'm top dog around here. You all answer to me now. Unless any of you think you are man enough to knock me on my ass. That's how things are gonna work for you all from now on. The strong rule here. The Strong get what they want, when they want, from who they want. You follow the rules your bigger and betters put out for you, or you get the shit kicked out of you. Like this sorry son of a bitch right—here!”

 

Another boot to the ribs and the poor bastard coughs up what I think is blood. It certainly sounds like what a man laying in the fetal position hacking his guys up would sound like. Besides that, nothing not even a nervous cough.

 

     “Good. Not sure all you know what's going on, so I'll spell it out for the thickest of you. You are all guests of the Orcs now. I suggest you be thankful to your hosts. You all will be free men come tomorrow night and for a few others luckier than that!”

 

     “S-sir, please,” the poor man laying on the ground begged before getting a third boot. “Sir, forgive me, sir!”

 

     “That's better... You two, pick these sacks of shit back up. Get someone to patch em up. They needs to be presentable, and ready to go, tomorrow evening.”

 

Dead silence save for the sound of a pair of footsteps dragging away the two men he had laid out through the rear tent flap.

 

     “There's always a couple dumb assholes who needs a beating,” Bruno sighed as I pictured him shaking his head, exasperated. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted... I am Bruno, the biggest and strongest man here, so what I say goes. Unless a Senior Shaman or the Boss Lady herself says otherwise, you do exactly what I fucking say... Got it?”

 

I couldn't see it, but even I could hear the nodding of heads all around.

 

     “You know your place and we can get along just fine. Hells, we could be bestest of friends. My wife cooks up the best turnip-pork stew you'll ever eat in your life. You can come on over for dinner any time... But you insubordinate me after tomorrow night, you'll see what happened to that fucker just now as mercy when I'm through with you.”

 

Bruno let that sink in and let the silence hang oppressively over us all for a good ten seconds.

 

     “Here's your lot in life. You were minding your own business and now you've been captured by Orcs. This is the best thing to have happened in your sorry pathetic lives. Come tomorrow evening, you will be free men. Some of you luckier than that, heh heh heh...”

 

That wasn't a laugh which inspired confidence.

 

     “Tomorrow evening an ancient Orc ritual will take place. The Bordo'jur'dan. All the lovely single ladies of the clan will battle one another in a great big free-for-all. The last one standing in the arena claims first right... To a husband, that is. The other will then choose in reverse order of their elimination. You leftovers, do whatever you want. Follow the caravan back to Orken lands, or piss off back to your mud huts, shrill wives and go back to bowing your head to your stupid star and kneel to your lord... As for your wives, if they wanna come crawling back to you, they can take part too... With a snowball's chance in sixth hell, HA! Maybe if they beg your proper wife will let her tag along as a mistress. A flower in both hands. How nice for you! Maybe she'll eventually come around. All's not lost with those bitches... The shamans got means seeing to that.”

 

He paced back and forth as he spoke, but stopped abruptly and I could feel his gaze on me through the blindfold.

 

     “And who in the nine hells is this?”

 

     “Sir, the special prisoner, sir,” a man's voice replied, from beyond the gathering of captives.

 

His footsteps came closer and I heard many scooting out of the way as he cleaved through the crowd. At long last the blindfold was ripped off my face. It had been so long since my eyes had seen the light it stung pretty badly. My curiosity overpowered the pain and I managed to blink through the discomfort. There appeared to be little difference between my imagination and reality, because this Bruno fellow looked exactly like I expected him to be. A lot hairier, everywhere except the top of his head. than I thought. Complete with a noticeable farmer's tan, but otherwise identical. It's uncanny.

 

     “So this is the runner?” Bruno said, grabbing me by the jaw with greasy sausage fingers and forcefully turning my jaw to appraise both sides.

 

His lips curled when he caught sight of me staring daggers back at him.

 

     "If only looks could kill, right kid?” He laughed while squeezing my cheeks. “Why the gag and all the rope?”

 

     “Boss' orders,” a woman's voice called out from beyond the tent flap.

 

Yet another pig woman. This one was dressed in an altogether new way. Rather than the bikini armor of the others, she wore a fur trimmed robe. That didn't stop it from having alluring slits up the sides of her thighs, or a window for her cleavage to spill out from though. I could tell she certainly wasn't human from the long boar tail swishing behind her from another butt window cut into the robe. It swayed in tandem with the clattering sound of animal bones hanging off a staff, like wind chimes, she held in her right hand. A hood covered her face, but with her chin visible I could see she didn't looked any more aged than the other pig women around the camp.

 

     “Hey, you ain't supposed to be showing yourself to the bachelors before the main event,” Bruno protested.

 

His tone of voice was no longer aggressive and threatening. This woman either had greater status, or if separated from that hierarchy, demanded respect.

 

     “Tauari told me to make sure you behave yourself, Bruno. Medly worries and keeps saying you need to manage your temper. It's bad for your heart.”

 

That name drop caused Bruno to wince. A good punch would never cause a man built more like a boulder than a human being to recoil like that, but this woman's words did. Tauari, so that was the amazon's name, the boss orc, the princess as they had also called her... I guess that made the other one, Medly, this guy's—

 

     “Don't think you've afforded yourself any favors for agreeing to take over orientation," the shaman continued. "You always send us bloody and beaten men. Our supply of herbs is limited this far south—as for him—” She said while turning her hooded visage toward me. “This is the one she brought in, by herself. I believe she has plans, so mind your manners. For your sake.”

 

     “You telling me the Boss is finally going to—”

 

The pig woman nodded her head. The men standing guard around the tent hooted and hollered under their breaths and exchanged excited glances. Bruno grinned madly.

 

     “Now you got me all green with envy. This ought to be quite the show of a lifetime you maggots are gonna enjoy. Only bachelors get to watch the Bordo'jur'dan go down. If our resident princess is gonna take part, this will be a show for the ages. Ha ha ha!”

 

     “And do not remove the gag, Bruno,” the shaman added. “We don't want him biting his tongue off.”

 

     “What? Really?” Bruno titled his head.

 

     “He jumped off a bloody cliff to elude us the first time, the Boss doesn't want to take any chances... It has taken my other junior shamans a great deal of effort to convince her to not ignore tradition and leave him here with you... Instead of keeping him in her own tent. And that is why we of the council have decided your men will have need of this tonight.”

 

Wrapped in leather, the shaman handed over something to Bruno. With a clattering of her bone charms, she turned and swayed wide hips as she sashayed her way out of the tent. The brute carefully unwrapped the gift and his face lit up with wonder. It looked like a simple silver chain with a few odd charms intermixed within the chain loop.

 

     “Hot damn!” Bruno hooted. “You girls are certainly going all out... Jake!”

 

     “Sir?” A young and lanky man's voice cracked as he stepped forward.

 

Puberty looked as if it had given up half way with him. Stringy arms and legs with a head a little too big for his body. He didn't appear much taller than five and a half feet too. It made the spear this D list guardsman looking wimp even more ridiculous. His brown bangs were overgrown and obscured part of his face as well. It made reading his expression beyond his shivering like a chihuahua in a thunderstorm impossible.

 

     “Boy, you take first watch till midnight.”

 

     “Sir? Me sir?”

 

     “Dammit, Jake, yes! And straighten out your back!”

 

His slouch straightened out as his spine snapped back into proper alignment like a wet wrung towel.

 

     “I think you're best to show these louts their place,” Bruno said while lowering the chain around the slender man's shoulders and letting it hand around his chest.

 

It made the man look even smaller.

 

     “You'll be staying put in this tent until preparations are complete, if you know what's good for you!” Bruno turned and shouted to us captives. “Tonight the girls party and the Bordo will commence. If they manage to get their hands on you... Let's just say they earned it.”

 

He flashed everyone a grin before giving the signal for all the male guards to file out of the tent with him. That left only the pint sized Jake behind, seeming very vulnerable. Minutes passed by with everyone gathered chattering quietly amongst themselves before it dawned on them that this wasn't any trick and Bruno wasn't about to come barreling back into the tent for a gotcha moment. When that finally sunk in, the first of the challengers rose to his feet. Not nearly the size of Bruno, but someone who very clearly worked with his hands for a living and carried the scars to prove it. He loomed almost a full head worth of height over Jake and puffed out his chest to boost the intimidation factor. He didn't seem the least bit perturbed that the boy is armed with a spear, which he didn't lower in response to the man slipping right inside his guard.

 

     “Out of the way, runt,” the man said.

 

     “My orders are my orders,” Jake mumbled barely louder than a whisper from where I was tied up.

 

     “Right. The hard way then,” the man sighed and threw the first blow.

 

With that much muscle mass behind it, the boy should have been sent flying. What happened is that the boy didn't even budge an inch. I landed square on his solar plexus, but it was the larger man pulling his fist back in pain. Two quick cracks of wood followed suit. A quick blow against the shin with the heft of the spear and then reared back so that the butt of it slammed against the man's stomach. I watched as the first blow nearly caused the man's leg to break backwards at the knee while the second sent him flying backwards about eight feet. All the chatter, sneers and jeers ceased immediately. The larger man wheezed helplessly on the floor.

 

     “Bruno left me this,” Jake spoke, in the same soft whisper, while holding up the silver chain around his collarbone in his hands. “This chain of oxen strength, so please, stay where you are for the evening.”

 

I had about as hard a time processing what just happened as everyone else. Force equaling mass times acceleration, the demonstration I saw just now was simply impossible. Despite this improbable show of force, the boy stood awkwardly with very little confidence at all.

 

     “Damn magic,” I heard a familiar old voice seethe through his teeth.”

 

     “You ain't saying?” a few of his neighbors sitting in the dirt turned their heads and asked.

 

     “You all likely never seen it like this before, but in my youth I worked with some Foreign Imperial Legion types. Decades ago... You see, they don't ban artifacts like these out here.”

 

     “But these things are cursed!” One gasped.

 

     “You're kidding,” another said with a gaped mouth.

 

     “He gave it to the weakest link, just to prove a point... I suggest you start praying you are allowed to walk after tomorrow night,” the old man said before laying down to take a nap. He looked back up at me and sneered, “At least some of you still got a chance with a prayer.”

 

A few of them tossed sympathetic glances my way, but seemed more interested in what else the old man had to say.

 

     “Alls I can say about orcs is this: you're a weakling and you will be their toy till the end of your days... As for those with the will for it... Orcs bow down to strength. A strong man can become their own little Khan... Not that I see it in the eyes of anyone here.”

The old man had nothing else to say after that. People cautiously exchange life stories very quietly among themselves and nothing more. If only to lessen the sting and anxiety of our current predicament. Time began to flow oddly after that. Maybe it was the residual effect of the knockout poultice they had soaked this rope gag in. Without the screaming, yelling and fighting, the moments passed on by like stop photography. Seconds blended into minutes. My stomach growled, but no meal came for me. Wooden bowls with delicious smelling soup was distributed, once, to the captives.

 

     “Need to save space for the main feast tomorrow!” the guards joked.

 

Under orders they did not remove my gag. I alone was left to wither away on the vine from hunger. Instead, the guards subjected me to water-boarding by tilting my head back and pouring water through the rag. Humiliating at the least, the sensation of drowning was very real. I wouldn't die, the headache from dehydration was going away, but I'm being kept purposefully weak. Another precaution to make it impossible for me to slip away, even if I could get free. Tied to the pole for one, but then my hands and feet bundled up for good measure made that impossible. All the stress and worry had left my eyes feeling heavy, and starving as I was, the fight against slumber was a losing battle and so I quickly nodded back to sleep for the next few hours I had any real chance at freedom.

 

***

 

I was immobile, but startled awake by the sound mayhem all around me. The familiar voices and cries of protest let me know that the time had come. Rough hands grabbed hold of me and led me along with the others. My toes were dragging along the ground as I was lifted by two men hoisting me up by the armpits. The procession moved in silence toward some source of noise. There was some manner of festival going on in the distance and was getting closer by the second. A rising chorus of giggling and merriment clashed hard with my festering sour and desperate mood. That being made all the worse when the music began to play. Nothing particularly fanciful, the sound of drums both large and small. A primitive beat which fit the mental image inside my head of these feral pig women.

 

The whole camp felt like it had gathered together in one place. What had seemingly been put together in a few short hours was some manner of arena, a barbarian coliseum. The stands were filled to capacity, and then some, by innumerable pig women. These orcs thrashed to and fro like a mob of football hooligans. They bantered, they brawled, they drank, ate copiously with no regard for manners and sung crude songs along with the beating of the drums. When they spied the procession of prisoners into the arena they all stopped what they had been doing and began to cheer in unison. Two laps around the inside of the arena were completed before myself and all the other poor SOBs with me were taken to a wooden platform, nestled between a break in the stands. Some of the pig women hung over the sides and battered their long eyelashes and some were more forthright and made crude and suggestive gestures. They were kept and barely in order by some pig women, still in their armor, menacing them with wooden quarterstaves.

 

Where the whole lot of us had been secured, tied to wooden poles and left to either stand there, or slink to the floor exhausted, broken and defeated, there was a clear line of sight to the main floor of the arena. Inside the center, which we had avoided thus far, I saw what was a great, big, giant pit of fresh mud. Even now some of the orcs were busy as bees throwing fresh buckets of water. Others raked with iron headed tools, wading into it, up to their knees, to make sure it was all just right. To another round of cheers, another procession took an identical parade around the outside of the arena with no less fanfare from the audience. These orcs basked in the moment, all the praise and adulation, which was different from the leers and naked sexual desire we had all been subjected to. They arrayed themselves like gladiators in a line and stood at attention along the outside of the pit of mud. All manner of pig woman stood tall with faces caught between positively glowing and flush with nervousness. Some fidgeted with butterflies in their stomach, but one of them stood out among the fifteen or so which had gathered. The bronzed skin giant who stood a full head higher than the others. Wearing a bear's skull as part of her helmet, the same woman who had led the orcs from before and chased me through the woods. The same woman who ambushed me and had me dragged here to begin with.

 

Her eyes pierced straight through all the other men around me and straight into my own. She had the presence of a boar among soft, doughy and pale skinned pigs. The orcs beside her looked the most nervous out of the lot. Yet she paid them no mind, she continued to glare at me, with a wicked smile on her face and taunting me with puckered lips and a blowing a kiss on the wind.

 

     "Ladies!" A voice echoing like thunder pierced through the din of the crowd which promptly went completely silent.

 

Taking center stage to address all those in attendance was the skull masked woman from before. The orc which had been addressed as the shaman.

 

     "Tonight we observe the most sacred of traditions we hold dear, tonight sisters, we commence the Bordo'jur'dan!"

 

Although the crowd had been enraptured, they once again broke out into a deafening cheer at the mere mention of that alien sounding jargon. The Shaman permitted it to continue for a few seconds before raising her hands and the roar ended as quickly as it had begun.

 

     "Your fellow sisters have gathered here today to cast their lot. To engage in this sacred combat for the ultimate prize. For tonight the victors shall spend their final moments as maidens and shall graduate fully into the realm of womanhood. Witnessed by all of us and under the watchful eyes of the Great Father above!"

 

Another rambunctious cheer.

 

     "Bordo'jur'dan, the rite of combat, the last sister standing within the pit shall be given the right of first choice among the men we have gathered here! Then, in order of defeat afterward, may the sister take from the captives the man she wishes to be her husband. Let sisters join together and become sisters no longer by mere oath, but of one flesh in union with the man of their desires. For those unfortunate to see no man of their desire, let your heart be filled with pride you have taken the first step toward being a true orc, as the Great Father intended! Then, as witnessed by all those here, let the matrimony, let their possession of one another, until death do they part, till they meet again in the halls of the Great Father ever after, be they united! Two flesh be one!"

 

Two flesh be one. Until death do they part. Great Father.The crowd cheered and boisterousness only continued to escalate. Egged on by the cheering, the orcs assembled around the pit began to disrobe. I could hear the audible gasps from all the other men around me. That I could not blame them for. Their slapdash manner of dress, consisting of crude linen scraps of cloth and leather cobbled together in crude armor, did not flatter them. Yet removed you could no longer deny that they were women and each one expertly crafted by some divine hand. All manner of body type had assembled, short, tall, wide hips to exaggerated with ludicrous behinds, barely any chest to great heaving mounds. It took a second take looking at either of them, to notice the little pig tails and floppy pigs' ears atop their heads to remind yourself that something wasn't quite right. I was still baffled they spoke a language I could understand, they almost looked human, but it wasn't just their behavior, their cadence, or their customs which were alien. They were certainly not human, but they were all certainly more than just ordinary women. That is to say, I would not say any of them would stick out in a crowd and turn heads. Of that I was not alone, all the men gathered appeared to be of one mind too. Appreciating the view of supernatural womanhood, shamelessly displayed..

 

Every man's attention was ripped back down out of the clouds and metaphorical cold water dumped over their heads as the music of the drums began once again. The shaman left the stage and the naked orcs waded into the pit of mud. They lowered themselves and took stances ready to do battle. A great horn sounded and cut through even the deafening sound of the drums and the cheers of the crowd. All those pig women crashed into one another immediately and it became one giant heap of flesh. Punches thrown, grapples slung and shrugged off. Pushing, shoving, an all around giant brawl.. That's when it hit me that all this had been pomp and circumstance for one big mud wrestling match.

 

It took almost a minute before the first girl had tapped out. Someone had managed to hold her head under the mud for a clean 10 seconds and she was yanked by an armed guard with a long wooden cane. She coughed up mud and had a saddened and sullen look on her face, but the cheering of the crowd for her lifted her spirits as she was escorted to a wooden chair for some other orcs to tend her battle wounds and wash all the mud off of her. So although they were continuing to fight like their lives depended upon it, death did not look like it was in the cards. As I pondered it, another girl had been lifted up into the air by the boar woman and tossed her outside the ring. A throw which no man I knew could manage. She would've had to clear a good fifteen feet. She too looked sullen and defeated and had to be helped back up onto her feet and carried away for her broken pride, and perhaps broken bones, to be mended.

 

There appeared to be a quick impromptu alliance formed among some of the others who began to gang up on the giant amongst them. But it took all that for the boar woman to merely not steamroll all the others. That's when the realization hit me that this monstrous woman had her eyes on me. All the amorous glances and suggestive gestures... She even tried stealing a quick glance in my direction to make sure I was still paying close attention and witnessing her. I tried to avoid eye contact. A rising sense of dread for what lay in store for me gripped my heart with an icy squeeze.

 

The bizarre scene before me had grabbed my attention, but I soon felt a presence behind me. I could hardly move my head, I could only turn it to my side, slowly and painfully, the post rubbing hard against the back of my head as I did. As I turned I was met with a face looking up at me. Amber crocodile eyes lit and luminescent under the moonlight and the bonfires. My eyes focused and I saw they were accompanied by a familiar face, the woman from last night, the same one from this morning.

 

     I was greeted by a tomboyish soprano, “Hello~? You awake?” She leaned her head from side to side and moved her face in closer right in front of mine. I instinctively tried to back away, but I had no where to back up to. No doubt standing up on her toes, if you could call them that, her eyes came right to my level and with her eyes right in front of mine she stared into my eyes and I couldn't see anything else. She then just as quickly pulled back and gave another wide toothy smile she shone on me and sounding delighted said, “Good. You're awake. Are you alright?” She put a claw on her hip and shifted her weight when I didn't say anything and that smile turned into an impatient frown, “I said hello.”

 

She finally noticed the hunk of rope shoved into my mouth as a gag and sighed. A dagger was protruding from her clenched fists and she brought it up toward my face lightning fast. I flinched and closed my eyes, but I heard the unmistakable rip and then a brush of scale across my cheek as the cloth was pulled out from my mouth. I heaved, coughed and took some very deep breaths, the firs in what felt like forever. I looked at her again and she was waiting patiently.

 

     I chose my words carefully and spoke them from my throat, it was more like a loud audible whisper, “What the hell are you doing here?” I noticed that despite having tried to chose my words carefully, my emotions got the better of me.

 

If she took any offense, it certainly didn't show on her face, with a proud little smile on her face she calmly she matter-of-factually replied, “I am here to rescue you of course.”

 

     It was the best news I had heard in a long time, but I had to ask, “Why?”

 

     “Because you're my husband of course.”

 

I regretted asking.