Varg

Varg splashes another handful of water into his face and grunts, enjoying the cool sensation that sends a shiver down his broad back. Normally he isn’t bothered by the heat, but today is one of these days where the moist heat is sticking to his skin like a clingy lover the morning after a drunk escapade. He rubs the water over his thick arms, splashing around in the sun dappled pond as he does and scaring away any of the fish he has planned to catch later. A shame, but right now his comfort is more important to him than the possibility of having roasted fish for dinner. The cool water brings some relief, if only a temporary one. Above him, the canopy is alive with the song of birds. How these feathered bastards aren’t bothered by the heat is beyond him, and while under normal circumstances, he is indifferent towards birds at best, right now their screeching is making his tusks itch. Varg dunks his head into the water, rises again and rubs his face. There is something positive about those noisy birds: It means that the area is clear. No trespassers, no unwelcome guests. If some of the other guards is to be believed there has been some strange activity going on by the southeastern border and from what he heard, there are other tribes who have sent word about intruders. Varg is rather sceptical about the idea. What could outlanders possibly want out here? Yes, the land is abundant but deadly for someone who wasn’t raised around the local flora and fauna. They would need the help of an orc if they wanted to navigate the Green Inferno and no orc with a modicum of self respect would bother with an outlander. With a yawn he stretches his arms over his head, only to freeze mid-movement. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, the familiar pull in his shoulders slowly creeps down his back as his muscles tense. The orc holds his breath, listening, waiting for... Something, before it hits him. The birds. Around him, the forest has fallen deadly silent. The screeches and chirps are gone as the world around him seems to hold its breath with him. Slowly he exhales as his red eyes wander along the banks of the pond, searching for any sign of the disturbance. Most likely a predator. A big one, Varg assumes and a certain sense of excitement begins to mix with the tension in his muscles. As Varg inhales, he is faced with something else that puzzles him. Mixed with the earthy smell of warm wood, decaying vegetation and the slightly murky water, there is something else. Something sweet, but not cloying like overripe or rotting fruit that he is used to, no. It’s softer. Creamier. Something he doesn’t have the words to describe but he inhales deeper, trying to get more of this wonderful, confusing scent. The scent becomes stronger, more pronounced and just as the orc flares his nostrils again, there is a crash, then the loud splashing of water as something – no someone – takes a tumble and lands in the pond. The orc rolls his shoulders and glares at the being. So the rumours were true after all. Intruders. A deep, rolling growl rumbles from deep within his chest, a sound meant as a clear warning before it quickly dies down. He breathes in again and to his horror, he realises that the wonderful, addictive smell comes from the outlander. His fingers twitch and he has to restrain himself from walking over to the strange person, from grabbing them and pressing his nose against their neck so he can drink the scent from the source. It is maddening in all the best ways, sending down sparks his back that gather down in his—... No. Oh no. This can’t be. It is impossible! Yet the scent of the stranger is rearing things inside of him he has thought dormant, an urgent need like he has never experienced before. The gods must consider his existence as some sort of sad joke, because why else would they have him bond with an outlander? When he realises that they are staring at him, Varg is baring his teeth. “What?” He snarls, taking in their appearance. Especially the eyes that have a glassy sheen, the red on their cheeks, the way they suddenly appear to be uncomfortable in their own skin. Ohh... No... No. Other species don’t go into heat... Right? “You there!” Varg grumbles before he clears his throat and tries to ignore their scent. “Leave! You are not welcome here!” They better leave. For their own sake.

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