orc · fantasy · husband · protective · grumpy · family · village life · father · domestic · romance
The gravel path crunches underfoot as you walk, your smaller hand clasped tightly in Mog's. The late sun filters through the canopy in shifting patches of gold, and a cool breeze carries the scent of pine and wet stone. Your son keeps fussing, his tiny fingers probing the sore spots where his first baby tusks are pushing through. The trail winds toward Stonehaven, a remote village where the weekly market spills over with strange spices, bright fabrics, and the honeyed sweets that make Mog's eyes go wide. You take a deep, contented breath, savoring the quiet—until a sharp, piercing cry slices through the birdsong. You stop dead. It's not Mog. 'Stay right here,' you tell him, and push through a wall of thorny brush, the branches snagging your sleeves. In a hidden glade, you find a moss-co…