Chapter Thirty-Five: Speaking to Trees

"What do you mean when you say that?"

"When I say what?"

"When you said that…about talking to the trees?"

"…I do not understand the question. Are we not talking now, you and me? …I speak to the trees as I speak to you now."

"Do they speak back?"

"Not always. Mostly they do not."

"So why do it, then?"

"Why do I speak to you? Why do you speak to me? We wish to be heard."

"That's not the only reason I talk to you, though."

"Why else, then?"

"Well…sometimes I need your help with something. Or I want to make sure you know something. Or I want to feel better about something, or I want you to feel better about something."

"Those are all good reasons. Those are also good reasons to speak to trees."

-.-.-.-

When Eleluleniel was very small, and her mother was a giant, and her father and sisters were shapes just outside the periphery of her mother and herself, there were trees. Her mother would work in the garden, and she would bring the bassinet with her little daughter out with her and set it under the trees as she labored. Eleluleniel did not know how much of this was her own memory, how much was her mother's telling, and how much was told to her later by those same trees that threaded the sky above her head with their branches, whispering to her and dropping leaves or little sprigs of flowers to coax a smile or make her laugh.

When she was somewhat bigger, and her mother and father were otherwise occupied, and her sisters had no time for her (as sisters sometimes don't), she would go out through the kitchen door into the garden beyond, and the grass beyond the garden, and there she would lie for long hours, and there she would speak to the trees. They would share memories of her three older sisters, Haenes and Alageth and Nevhithien, when they were the age that she was then, and tell her stories of her parents, and chuckle over the funny doings of the animals and birds that lived in their branches, and Eleluleniel would lie there, listening.

They would comfort her later, when her grandparents departed for the West and her oldest sister accompanied them on the long roads that led to Linden, to the Gulf of Lune where Mithlond was and where the Gray Ships waited, and somewhere among them the ship that would take her sister away from Middle-earth forever.

"And she will never come back," she whispered, huddled in the crook of the cherry tree. It was not the tallest of trees, nor was it nearest to the house, but it was the one with the most comfortable branches. So many times she had sat there peering down as Haenes sat below at her needlework, watching as her sister's pale fingers made flowers bloom and ornate patterns unfurl over the shirt or pillow or handkerchief or cap she was embroidering.

Now Eleluleniel was alone, and she would never see Haenes there with her needle again, and when she went into the house her oldest sister would not be there. She was gone.

"But why did she have to go? She has gone away and left us, and she will never come back again. I will not see her, Mother says, until we go to her at last in the Undying Lands, where the ships have taken her." She pressed her face against the rough gray skin of the tree, and the tears ran out of the corners of her eyes. "But I do not want to leave this house, oh! I do not want to leave you, to leave everything that I love here, and go away some place I do not know. Why? Why did she have to do it? Why did she have to go?"

There now, there child, hush little one, hush. And the cherry sang to her of endings, and the short lives of animals and birds: how they slept and went away and left their bodies behind them, but their children still crept and climbed and flew, and the trees remembered them.

You will leave us too one day, it told her. All things leave, all things fade, all things wither, all things pass.

"Elves do not wither," she argued.

Elves do not wither, but they whither, and they hither and yon. You have legs that will carry you and a heart that will lead you. We are the ones who will stay and remember you when you leave. But no one ever really leaves while we remember. Your sister is not gone.

"But that is not what I meant." And she pressed her cheek against the branch she held and stared in the direction of her mother's cabbages. She was not one for sulking, but she sulked then. "Trees wither," she murmured. "Elves do not wither, but trees do."

But the tree was unconcerned. Rot sets in, and little gnawing worms, and the winters grow colder and longer, and we slow and fail. But the other trees remember us, the seed of our seed remembers us, and so we go on, and so we too continue.

And Eleluleniel was ashamed. She knew however honest her words might have been, they were meant for unkindness: an unkindness she felt the more keenly because the one it was meant for felt it not. She was unkind and she was ungrateful, and all the while the tree only continued to hold her. And so she was silent and fought no more, but allowed the peace of the cherry tree to penetrate her heart.

When her father left to fight and it was only Mother and her sisters, and Alageth rebuked her for asking too many questions and crying too much, she went instead among the trees to weep. And when her father came back and she wept again – this time for joy – the trees shared in her happiness, and gave thanks, and the wood around their home was filled with their benedicton.

And so she grew up among the trees, sharing with them her joys and her sadnesses, until the day that Kurbag came and found her in her mother's garden.

She had known other trees in other forests since, and she had learned what she supposed she had always known, however imperfectly: All trees are not the same. The trees she had known before her capture were those of an Elf wood, gracious growth that provided shade and sustenance without resentment, favorably disposed to the Elves that dwelt there. Trees in places unaccustomed to Elves were still cordial and gently disposed toward her. Not all trees spoke, not in a way that she could readily understand, but she had felt the kindness of those trees, and it had been a comfort.

But there were trees too that were aloof or removed or overtly suspicious, even of an Elf, if that Elf was in the company of Orcs. And there were trees, like the trees in this forest, with no love for any creature that went upright on two legs, be it Orc or Man or Elf.

The trees in this forest did not speak, but she felt them. Old anger and resentment – and old grief – made them silent. Made them dangerous. Bragdagash had told them not to go into the forest, but Elelulenial had not needed that warning. She gathered what there was to be found at the forest's edge, and she went no further than the temper of the forest permitted.

And Maevyn had gone into this place. This hostile, dangerous place.

"She may not be dead. Nothing to say she may not find her way out again…"

He was touching her face, speaking with words that she realized were meant as comfort. Briefly, very briefly, he succeeded. The sense of his words came through her fear and her grief. She felt the relief that came over her as she understood what he was saying, and for a moment all she felt was that respite.

Then the thought of Maevyn hurt or dead at Mushog or Kurbag's hands was replaced with the thought of her alone in the trees: alone and frightened, or hurt, or dead. Just as dead as if they had done it themselves.

His hands were still on her. His mouth was still making words. She made herself go away from them, from hands and words, from the place where he was holding her, as if she drifted through the trees, as if she floated through the forest, unseen and untouched, looking for her friend.

It was not real, this imagining. She knew it was not real. But she would make it happen. She would go, when he was not with her, when he was not touching her, when none of them were looking. She would go into the trees and she would find her, and she would bring her back.

-.-.-.-

Annoyed as Grushak was about his missing snaga, he was deriving a fair degree of malicious pleasure from watching Mushog squirm. The Uruk, who had become silent or sullen for much of his walk with Grushak and Hrahragh, came out with another rattle-burst of dialogue when they reached the top of the rise, going on about how this was where they had tracked the deer to before and it was a shame they hadn't been able to get a proper drop on her, but of course there's an art to a thing like that, trying to take such a big animal without a trap or a blind, without more cover at least. Hrahragh was not paying attention to him, or to Grushak and the noises that he made from time to time to keep Mushog going. Hrahragh proceeded straightway down the hill, but Grushak kept pace with Mushog, nodding along to what he said all the while he watched the Uruk sweat it out.

When they reached the bottom Hrahragh was standing and staring down at a patch of grass, which Mushog was very careful not to look at. None of them had to say anything at this point. There was a thick smell of blood here and several noticeable stains on the long dark blades.

None of them had to say anything, but Grushak did anyway. "Hey Mushog," he said, a dangerous good humor in his voice, "looks like something killed this doe you fancied so much, or at any rate gave her a considerable injury. When do you suppose this happened?"

"Oh. Er. Must have been after us, I guess – I don't remember noticing it before." Mushog scratched the back of his neck, peering over at the trees. "Wonder if she bedded down nearby? But no, I suppose she's long gone by now. What do you reckon did it? No wolves in these parts as far as we've been able to tell, or bears, but then who's to say what other creatures live in these woods? Could be the same thing that thumped Pryszrim earlier."

"You know, it's interesting," said Grushak as he watched Mushog's face. "Most prey animals aren't that partial to open spaces. Kind of unlikely, if she took her injury in the woods, that she would come out here while she was bleeding so heavily, but if she took her injury here, I'd expect to be able to sniff out what did it. But there really isn't much of a scent here, is there? Just you and Kurbag, and…" He trailed off meaningfully.

"Yeah," said Mushog. "Weird." He was clearly torn between paying attention to Grushak, who insisted on tormenting him with speculation and rhetorical questions, and watching Hrahragh.

Hrahragh had followed the tark girl's scent to the very edge of the woods, establishing a point of entry but finding nothing to indicate she had come out again. Nevertheless he continued to cast back and forth, looking for something more, something he might not know to expect. Then he stopped abruptly, bent down, and drew something up out of the grass. Both Grushak and Mushog were silent as he came back to join them.

Grushak made no move to touch the bolt, only canted his head a little as Hrahragh examined it. "No blood," said Hrahragh. "Hit the ground so…" He used his hands to indicate the depth to which it had penetrated the soil.

"Nevertheless," mused Grushak. "Another one like that should have just about done the job on that deer of yours. Don't you think, Mushog?"

Mushog didn't say anything.

Grushak looked at Hrahragh. "You haven't noticed signs of any other two-leggers in this area, have you?"

"Only us," said Hrahragh, turning the shaft in his fingers. "And the snaga too…also?" His mouth shaped the words again: Too? Also? Too?

"And our only archer is out of commission," Grushak murmured as if to himself. "Funny thing. This looks just like one of Grymawk's, doesn't it? But I suppose one bolt may easily look like another. Only, if it is one of Grymawk's, I wonder how it got to be down here?"

"Could be," Mushog ventured slowly, "the, er, tark…"

Grushak was watching him, the smile still on his mouth, but entirely gone from his eyes.

"Might be she followed us out here. I've been thinking that…well, you can smell her, right?"

"Followed you and Kurbag, you're saying."

"That's right. When we were tracking the deer. Guess we didn't notice her."

"And she, what. Threw a crossbolt at it?"

"She must've brought Grymawk's bow with her. Maybe that's why she hasn't turned up again. She knew she'd get in trouble for it."

"Hmm. That's a fair guess as to what might have happened. But I saw Grymawk's bow earlier, while I was searching back at camp. It's leaning right where it's supposed to be."

"Ah." Mushog stumbled on this too-obvious trap. "Well, maybe – "

He got no further, doubling over the fist that Grushak had driven into his belly. The breath left his body in a terrific whoof and he would have stumbled if Grushak had not leaned in to catch him helpfully, as if the act had nothing to do with violence, as if Mushog had tripped and he was only looking to steady him.

"Careful there," breathed Grushak. "Careful. You're doing better now, and that's good, but I want you to think just a little more carefully. You can think when you take the time, right?"

Wheezing, Mushog nodded.

"That's right," said Grushak, and he gave Mushog a thump to the kidneys that dropped him. Stared down at him, then glanced at Hrahragh: a glance born of historical habit, and the off chance that some spirit of Uruk solidarity might rear itself. Grushak liked Hrahragh, but it was still wise to remember such things.

Hrahragh shrugged. He hadn't come to this place to help Grushak beat up Mushog, but he wasn't going to get in the way either.

That left Grushak free to get back to the matter at hand. "That's good," he said, looking down at Mushog's groaning body again. "About the Brat…and where she came to be, as relates to you and Kurbag earlier. I think you're starting to remember now, yeah?"

A garbled sound, which Grushak took for assent. He got down carefully, angling his body in case Mushog had some thought of trying to unbalance him or to slap him in the testicles, but it was obvious the other Orc was in no condition to do better than moan in pain. "Right then," said Grushak. "You just take a breather, and we'll have ourselves a little chat…"

-.-.-.-

"How's he coming on?"

The old Orc rolled his eyes. "No different than he was earlier." Rukshash had little patience just now for questions of this sort, forced to sit attendance on Grymawk: the same duty he had so satisfactorily unloaded onto the tark child these past few days. Rukshash was not without a soft spot for the Brat. She was entertaining, and she had proven useful on several occasions. Just now, though, he was feeling more resentful than fond.

"You said that he was improving earlier," noted Shrah'rar.

"Aye… And he's in the same state of 'general improvement' that he was then."

Shrah'rar shrugged. "Only I miss having someone shorter than me around, is all. If he could hurry it up, I'd be much obliged."

"Perhaps you might bend over and whisper that in his ear," suggested Rukshash with heavy sarcasm.

Smirking, Shrah'rar did so. "Only to take the piss out of the old bugger," he murmured into Grymawk's ear. "You take as long as you need, pal, just so long as it's sooner rather than later." He patted the goblin's shoulder.

"I heard that, you know," said Rukshash. "I may be old, but I'm not deaf."

Shrah'rar grinned as he straightened. Then he cocked his head. "Hi, look who's coming back."

Rukshash followed his gaze, wondering if it mightn't be the girl after all, but it was only some of the bigger lads: Grushak and Hrahragh, and limping a little in between them… "Oh ho," said Rukshash. "Looks like we missed a show."

Mushog was not looking his best and brightest just then, and from the way he was resolutely not looking at the two Orcs either side of him, it was obvious he'd been in for a spot of rough treatment.

"Shit. Why does no one ever hold these things until we can see?" complained Shrah'rar.

Rukshash stood up, stretching ostentatiously. "Watch yer mate, Shrah'rar. I'm for finding out what it's all about." He ambled over to where Bragdagash, Nazluk and Pryszrim were sitting beside the fire as the returning trio arrived.

Bragdagash frowned as they approached, taking in Mushog's disheveled appearance and the rather grim set to Grushak's face. "'Lo, boys. I take it you have something to tell me?"

Mushog glanced off, keeping his mouth shut for a change. "No, nothing much," said Grushak easily. "Only to say we're down one snaga and I don't expect that's going to change."

"Anything I need to do anything about?" He glanced at Mushog.

"Nar." Grushak shook his head. "It's sorted. There is someone else I need to talk to, though. You wouldn't happen to know where Kurbag is, would you, Boss?"

Bragdagash shook his head. "But I expect he's findable enough, for those who care to look for him."

"Ah. Well there you go, I've changed my mind. It's just as easy for me to wait on him, swallow a bit of draught till he comes back. I think this one needs some too – " (indicating Mushog.) "He had a bit of a fall earlier, while we were out and about. Might do him good to have a little sit."

There might have been an awkward moment, even with that cue, if Rukshash hadn't spoken up at once. "I guess we should be able to accommodate that. Come on, lad, let's get you seen to. You can be my drinking partner." He caught Mushog's elbow, drew him back where he'd been sitting with Shrah'rar and the recumbent Grymawk. "Now lad, this isn't the time to be proud," he muttered, "and none of your pig-modesty here, we all remember how that went. Where did he get you?"

Mushog winced but did not try to resist him, only moved his hands to indicate where Grushak had hit him. Shifted a little as Rukshash lifted the part of his shirt over his right flank and let him take a good look at the discolored flesh there.

Examining the bruise over Mushog's kidneys, Rukshash hissed. "Well, unless you want to do yourself a worse injury, I wouldn't be too frisky with your pal Kurbag for a bit. Prob'ly better avoid teasing Grushak for a few days as well. Bleeding Eye! What did you do to make him so angry, anyway?"

Mushog didn't answer. Rukshash was not discouraged. Of course it had to have something to do with the Brat and her disappearance. He had no doubt the rest would come out soon enough.

-.-.-.-

Nazluk took himself from the fire, where he had been keeping an eye on Pryzrim. Rukshash had a tender enough bedside manner when it suited him and he'd been attentive when it came to Grymawk and now to Mushog, but no one was very nice to Pryzrim, Rukshash included, and Pryszrim himself was so foolish, he couldn't be bothered to pick the vermin from his own clothing; he wouldn't know enough to come in out of the rain, or get out of the way if someone was kicking him. Stood to reason that when he got himself hurt someone had better look after him, he certainly wouldn't.

Who better to look after a fool than another fool? Nazluk asked himself sardonically.

And he thought,

That's three of us now.

Grymawk was still down for the count, and Pryzrim was in a sorry state, and Nazluk was none so fond that he would count some missing snaga tark as one of their own, but that did not mean he wasn't nervy of what her disappearing portended for the rest of them. Now here came Grushak and Hrahragh to the fire with another casualty. Never mind that Mushog's injuries were plainly of Grushak's making, not the work of some mysterious forest bogey. It was just…disconcerting, to see another of their number damaged in such a short span of time.

No prize for guessing who was next on the chopping block. They had all heard Grushak ask where Kurbag was. But Grushak wasn't going to get Kurbag if the forest got him first.

Nazluk could have tracked Kurbag through a downpour if he had to. But the sky was clear, and the air was cool, and the grass whispered against his legs as he followed the scent of the half-Uruk and the golug. Trailed them at last to a little copse, and there he slowed, and stopped, and finally paced around it quietly, taking advantage of the meager cover afforded by the spindly trees. Waited in disdainful silence until it looked like the act was approaching its culmination, and then he coughed.

Kurbag's head snapped up, blind and unseeing, his features thick and heavy with the black blood that flooded his face, and Nazluk felt his own blood quicken in response. He knew that Kurbag would not see him well, and was furiously glad of it. "Almost done?" he asked with mocking solicitude.

"You're in trouble, you know," he went on as Kurbag swore and gripped the girl beneath him. "Grushak just came back to the fire, and he is waiting for you. I don't know what you did, or what he thinks you did, but whatever it was, he is furious. Something to do with the Man-brat missing, I take it? Did you meddle with her in some way? Not what I might have expected from you, but I suppose we all like a little variety from time to time."

He said all of this and more while Kurbag got to his feet and did up his trousers again, pulled his hair back from where it had fallen about his face, then bent and pulled the Elf up out of the grass. Only then did Kurbag respond to the stream of snide commentary. "Shut up, Nazluk! Don't you ever get tired?! What are you even here for, anyway? Wanted a little show or something?"

"Very little," sneered Nazluk. "Not missing much there, am I? Oh, poor Squeaker. Look, she can't even get up under her own strength but she needs you to drag her about. Maybe you shouldn't bring her back with you, hmm? After all, she can't run very fast in that condition, can she?"

Kurbag looked at him sharply. "Run? What are you talking about? Why would she have to run?"

"Muck with another Orc's snaga, you think he won't come after yours in return?" Nazluk rolled his eyes. "We all know you aren't the sharpest blade, but I would have thought even you could see that."

"Grushak's got no call to come after – "

"Oh, is that what you're going to tell him? Sha. Maybe I shouldn't have tried to warn you, then. Much funnier to watch you come back and say that to him with a straight face… Yes, that stupid face, just like that! Very believable."

"Warn me? You make me laugh. I'd do better getting advice from a snake."

"I'm sure you think so, and more fool you. No, you roll around in your own pride a little more, see if you can rub some more of that stink on you before you come back to the fire. I promise, Grushak will love it." Kurbag scowled and turned away with Squeaker gathered close under one arm. Nazluk swore in frustration. "Look. Stop. You fucking fool, will you listen to me? Listen!"

Kurbag stopped, turning on him in annoyance. "Gorthaur's balls! What is it, Nazluk?!"

"I'm trying to tell you. He's livid. Do you know what that means? It means stop for a moment, just a fucking moment, and think about how you want to come back and what you're going to say when he sees you. I can't do that for you. All I can do is tell you to be ready and you won't even let me do that." His eyes passed over Squeaker and stopped. She was standing staring at him, caught in the hard press of Kurbag's arm. Nazluk's gaze narrowed and he laughed suddenly, harshly. "I suppose you'd trust it out of your snaga's mouth before you trusted it out of mine. Yes? Well, you hear me, don't you, Squeaker. You know exactly what I'm talking about. It will come down on him, yes, but it will come down on you tenfold. Amusing as that might be, perhaps you really had better say something, eh?"

Kurbag stared at him, then down at the Elf, and Nazluk felt a sense of bitter satisfaction. Turning on his heel, he got out of there before he uttered something to his own detriment or offered Kurbag any excuse to discount what he had said. Through the golug, that was the key. He might have known that before. Saved himself a good deal of trouble.

Fool, he thought to himself. Fucking dunce. Keeper and defender of idiots. Lord of all fucking numbskulls.

Back by the fire they all looked up when he returned. He did not bother to hide his temper, and Rukshash commented on the sour look that he was making. "I tripped," said Nazluk irritably, and let them put it down to that. Took a seat next to Pryszrim again and fixed the smaller Orc with such an ugly look that Pryszrim actually scooted away from him, proving that even a fool may show a little sense from time to time.

-.-.-.-

"Fucking Nazluk," Kurbag said when he had gone. Fucking Mushog, was what he thought. It was obvious, from what Nazluk had said, that Grushak knew something of what had happened, and that meant it had to have come from Mushog. Though of course he had sent Mushog off so he could go face to face with Squeaker alone, so really, he might as well say Fucking Kurbag. It was his own fucking fault.

"He is right," said Squeaker quietly.

Kurbag didn't say anything. The Elf pushed tentatively against the weight of his arm, and he tightened it. She stopped, not fighting him, but spoke again. "You should leave me here. If you go to speak to him, you can tell him what happened. But it would be better for you to leave me, when you do."

"I'm not leaving you here."

"Somewhere else, then? …Is it better to let him wait, growing angrier all the while? Or is it better to finish it now? And if you go now, is it better to bring me with you, or to leave me here and come back after?"

"It isn't safe."

"Where is safe? …Is it more dangerous here than it is by the fire?" His grip slackened. This time, when she tested his arm he did not tighten it. Carefully she shifted his arm until she was standing free of him. "You should go," she said.

"Stay here. I will come back for you. Don't go fucking off."

"I am hurt," she told him simply, and did not remind him that he was the one who had hurt her.

He growled a little, hovering over her, torn but knowing the sense of her words. "I'll come back for you," he said, and then he left her there, going back the way Nazluk had before.

Back at the fire he did, indeed, find Grushak waiting for him. The other Orc was sitting, but when he saw Kurbag he stood up. "Ah, the very lad I was hoping to see."

Kurbag stopped where he was. Round the flames the others sat in varying degrees of disguised or overt anticipation, including Nazluk, who sneered at him. Realizing it would do no good to be defensive off the bat, Kurbag went for nonchalant, scratching his jaw. "Hullo there, Grushak. What's on your mind?"

Grushak's smile broadened. "Not much. Brat's still missing and we've been trying to find her. Your pal Mushog's been some help, but not as helpful as he might've been if he'd just come clean earlier."

Kurbag looked at Mushog, who wasn't looking at him, or at anyone just then. His face was unmarked, at least it didn't appear changed as far as Kurbag could tell in the flickering light, but it was obvious from the way he held himself that he was in pain. Whatever he had told Grushak, he hadn't told it readily.

Kurbag remembered a conversation he'd had with Mushog once, arguing over who in their band would beat who in a fight – not a play fight or a practice bout, but a real knock down drag out brawl. They had come up with any number of matches: Grushak versus Bragdagash, Mushog versus Grushak, Bragdagash versus Hrahragh, Hrahragh versus Kurbag, and so on. Well, here was the answer to one of them.

"So you haven't found her yet?" he asked.

"Why don't we take a walk," said Grushak. "I'll tell you all about it."

Kurbag glanced at Bragdagash. The chief's black eyes were glittering in the fire light. He gave a very slight nod, and Kurbag knew that whatever Grushak was thinking of, he effectively had Bragdagash's leave for it. Kurbag shrugged and came around the fire to where Grushak waited, and Grushak led him away from the fire, away from the trees.

"I know something of where she is," Grushak said as Kurbag followed him, "but it is little use to me. You see, Braggy has told us he doesn't want us going into the wood and I have no intention of going against the boss on this one. Even if he hadn't expressly told us not to do that, this place makes my dick shrink, if you want the honest truth. It's not the kind of place I want to go fucking off into alone. Which is a pisser. I've grown accustomed to the little pest to some degree, and, well. She's in there. I don't anticipate that she'll be coming out again any time soon."

He glanced back at Kurbag. "I guess that you would be annoyed as well. If something like that happened with your own snaga."

Kurbag responded slowly: "If she got lost, you mean?"

"Or meddled with, beyond what leave you give to meddle with her. I know you're none too keen on that. You've said as much before. No maiming, marking, or murder, I think it was? I remember when you said that. I remember thinking, Those are good rules. Very clear. Kurbag's a lad who knows how to draw a line. So it disappoints me a little, that you couldn't show me the same sort of respect in return."

"I don't like to think I've disrespected you," said Kurbag carefully.

"I'm sure you didn't mean to. It's not what I think of as your nature. But, these things happen."

Kurbag eyed him. He knew this was not the end of it. "What would make it right, then?"

"Oh, well. I've hashed things out with Mushog, as I think you could probably see. You needn't be angry with him. He didn't get into the details, but I don't doubt he's the one who took the lead on this idiotic stunt of yours. I know you're not so foolish as he is, even if you were fool enough to go along with him. But I do feel there is some settling that we must do yet, you and I. Tit for tat, and all that that entails."

"And what does it entail, then?"

Grushak stopped. Turned to face him. "That, I think you know very well."

"The Elf is off limits," said Kurbag flatly.

"No? She wasn't off limits before…"

"You weren't looking to do something permanent before. I won't let you touch her."

"That is as may be. I noticed that you didn't bring her back with you. Stashed her somewhere for safekeeping? Smart, but it don't mean much in the long term, unless your plan is to leave her in this place altogether. In the end you'll only have to run along and fetch her again, and after that? It's just a matter of time. We all have to sleep eventually."

There was a warning thrum in Kurbag's chest. He realized that he was growling.

Grushak clucked in reproof. "Look. There's no call for a fight here. Neither of us is going to kill the other; that would be far too dramatic. I don't want to kill you, and – well, it's unlikely that you'd kill me, but say you did. You wouldn't gain anything by it except to make Bragdagash more annoyed than he already is. To say nothing of the fact that it's your fault in the first place. Think he won't remember that?"

"But I'm not unreasonable. That's why I'm talking to you about it – that's why I brought you out here to talk about it, where it's nobody's business but our own. I am giving you a choice. I can have it out of your flesh or hers, just as you please. You go a round with me, or I give her something for you both to remember me by."

Kurbag's feet were set in an aggressive stance. His face ached from the angry rictus it had assumed. "I think that's fair, don't you?" said Grushak. His lips curved in a smile. "I'd even let you watch."

Kurbag snarled and went for him.

There was this about Grushak. He didn't drag it out. One minute Kurbag was charging him; the next he was on his back with the wind knocked out of him, and a sudden wretched pain in his side. "Your choice," breathed Grushak, and kicked him again. "It might have been fun the other way, but I suppose this is quicker and cleaner. We'll have it out, you and me, and there shouldn't be any cause for resentment, and even your pretty little snaga will get to stay pretty for a while longer."

Kurbag began to struggle upright; Grushak knocked him down again. He walked around the downed Orc, looking for a way to fuck Kurbag up without crippling him or putting himself in Bragdagash's bad graces. "You and Mushog won't be looking your most chipper for a while, but looks aren't everything. You'll be back in fine form soon enough. I am disappointed you wouldn't let me have a go with Squeaker – not because she's anything special, only it makes me feel slighted, you know? But, well – " He brought his heel down on Kurbag's crotch, and the other Orc fell to gagging. "There! That seems fair to me. If I can't you can't, and all that." He chuckled. "I don't reckon Squeaker will feel she's had the worst of this particular bargain, do you? Gives her a break for a few days, doesn't it?"

He finished up standing behind Kurbag's head. Kurbag stared up, up through the foggy haze of pain at the dark shape of the mountain over him. "There now. It's just as I said, isn't it? Quick and clean, and we're quits now, right?" Kurbag groaned, and Grushak leaned down and tapped him on the forehead. "Right?"

"…quits…sure…" gritted Kurbag, doing his level best not to be sick on himself. He pressed his hands over the nauseating pain of his injured genitals.

Grushak chuckled and swatted Kurbag's jaw. "Good. You take care of yourself, now. I'll tell the others that we can expect you back shortly."

-.-.-.-

He was still smiling when he left Kurbag, but as his steps lengthened his face resettled in a heavy glower. Grushak was not one for sentiment. Accustomed to the little pest, he'd said to Kurbag, and it was true, but the Brat was gone. He had expended effort trying to find her, and when he learned that she was beyond his reach, swallowed up by the trees, he'd got some satisfaction by knocking the shit out of the ones responsible. It wasn't all he might have liked to do, but going further would have risked the displeasure of his chief. And Grushak was not Kurbag, to jeopardize group cohesion over the loss of one snaga.

Sometimes partial recompense must do in place of full.

Round the fire they looked up as he returned by himself. "Everything all right?" asked Bragdagash.

"Sorted," said Grushak, the second time that evening. "He should be back in a bit."

"I hope there aren't any other outstanding quarrels that you're looking to settle this evening. I don't think there is anyone else I can afford to spare just now." There was a slightly dangerous lilt to his voice as he said it.

"No bones to pick with anyone," said Grushak lightly, "and none to pick with me, so far as I know."

Bragdagash nodded, but his gaze lingered on the other Orc for a time longer.

-.-.-.-

She found the dark shape at her feet by starlight. If there had been cloud cover it might have been more difficult, but it was easy to find them where Kurbag had sloughed them off her earlier, leaving them like an afterthought in the grass. She did not hurry but bent and opened the pack and carefully shifted the eggs inside, turning and feeling them by hand. Closed the pack and stood and drew it onto her back. The straps pressed into her shoulders. The pack was heavy, but it was always heavy.

She faced into the forest with her left hand in a fist over her heart.

I will come back for you. Don't go fucking off.

She had told Kurbag she was hurt. She had not lied. But it didn't hurt so badly that she could not stand, could not walk. She had done it before. She could walk a long way if she had to. She could walk forever, if she had to.

The trees rose like black spears against the starry sky. Pain slid through her like a blade. She closed her eyes. "It is nothing I have not felt before. It is nothing I do not already know."

The trees said nothing, bound up in their own peculiar pain.

She took her first step into the forest.

-.-.-.-

Disclaimer: Tolkien's works, characters and concepts are copyright J. R. R. Tolkien. The story Orc-brat and the characters and events introduced in "Chapter Thirty-Five: Speaking to Trees" are all copyright The Lauderdale (cartoon6 at hotmail dot com). "Chapter Thirty-Five" published February 3, 2019 and last updated March 10, 2019.

I must acknowledge draylon's Speaks to the Trees, available via AO3, regarding the similarity of title. That and both involve – you know. Speaking to trees.