A Shadow at the Threshold

Amaric and his younger sister, Mira, were tending to the horses in the stables situated just outside the barracks. The evening air carried the familiar musk of hay and horse sweat, mingling with the earthy scent of recently watered troughs and the rather ripe aroma of dung. Both siblings were brushing their favorite mounts, Amaric a destrier he named "Bloodmane" and Mira a spirited chestnut mare named "Nightwind". The rhythmic scrape of their brushes against the horses' coats was a comforting sound in the fading light. The stable boy was mucking out the stalls and humming a tune that was popular among the clan's youth. Every once in a while he would steal a glance at Mira, and for no small wonder.

Mira, nineteen summers old, was a vision of orcish feminine strength and beauty. She had a lithe, toned and ample figure, visible beneath her clothing that clung tightly to her form. With the heat of the summer night, she had opted to wear only a linen breastband instead of a tunic, thereby allowing the display of her defined arms, shoulders and abdominal muscles as well as the fullness of her chest. Of course her true intent was to allow her skin some relief from the humidity, not to tease a poor stable boy. Her hair, white as snow, was worn in a close-set braid and her ruby red eyes were bright amidst the torchlight.

The sound of the gate opening and closing snapped the boy's attention back to his work, especially when he saw out of the corner of his eye that it was none other than Osric, Amaric and Mira's father. He wore the same scowl he always seemed to wear, his red eyes and undercut white hair signaling where the siblings had got their features from.

"Good," he grunted. "The two of you are here. Put down the brushes, pack your things, get some rest and be at the main gate by morning."

"Why?" Amaric asked.

"You're going to accompany Lothar to Thraegel Meadow, along with Brithun, Cragath and his daughter Kaethe," Osric explained.

He then told them about the goblin healers and Lothar's determination to find them, "They may be able to heal our headman, so for his sake and the clan, it's worth looking into."

Just then, Lothar came into the stables, checking on his own mount a black stallion known as "Thunderhoof". Mira's eyes lit up when she saw him, prompting Amaric to smirk a little and cast a side-eye towards his father who was fighting like hell to refrain from cracking a smile of his own.

Amaric nudged his sister, who seemed to snap out of a trance and blink at him.

"I'll start packing, you make sure Bloodmane and Nightwind are ready for tomorrow."

With a wink Amaric departed with Osric following close behind. Leaving Mira alone with Lothar.

She swallowed hard, the sound barely audible to anyone but her. His hair fell in a wild way, touched by the wind like a crown of freedom, an untamed mane that framed his handsome face. That face held a controlled intensity that was neither cruel nor arrogant but strong, protective and safe. He exuded a raw power that went beyond mere physical presence: the way his tunic and black hide-trousers barely contained the muscles beneath, how those sinews shifted with even his slightest movement, a promise of unrelenting, lethal force. He stood—tall, confident, steady. His aura, a quiet certainty that drew her gaze and held it.

For as far back as she can remember she had harbored feelings for Lothar. She too was a childhood friend of his alongside Amaric. Growing up together, training together and earning their places among the clan together. With each passing year as they ascended from childhood to youth and into adulthood, her feelings would only grow stronger. It did not matter that he was a human, and if she was honest, it made him more exotic in her eyes. In fact, Mira knew by listening to the other womenfolk of the clan that Lothar was considered quite a prize. Even amongst those whose families were officially against him. Though that lot tended to regard him through the lens of a fetish rather than the sure, grounded and gentle soul that she had come to adore.

Mira walked towards him, slowly, hands resting on her forearms as if she were a nervous maiden and not a mighty huscarl and warrior. As she came within arms reach she breathed him in. For he smelled faintly of smoke and more strongly of resin. She closed her eyes, savoring his presence, before realizing that it would only take a moment for Lothar to turn around and witness her smelling him more or less aggressively.

She cleared her throat, then spoke, "How are you holding up?"

Lothar finished laying out the saddle for the morning and turned to her, "As well as can be, considering. How are you Mira?"

She caught his gaze trailing down towards the lush parting of her generous bosom, but he quickly blinked and returned to her eyes, a slight tinge appearing in his cheeks as he tried to appear composed. Mira strained her face to refuse a smirk and instead slid her hands up her forearms to her elbows, her biceps pressing against the walls of her bust that seemed ready to burst from the restraints of her breastband, the soft flesh shining from perspiration. Her eyes did the grinning for her when she beheld Lothar shift uncomfortably, noting his right eye twitching slightly from exertion as he denied himself the pull of her womanly allure.

"Something the matter?" she asked, feeling suddenly confident in her self and her charms.

"No," Lothar said too quickly. "No, I um, uh I'm just tired. That's all."

She glided closer to him, basking in his height for he stood a full span or three palms higher than her. The difference forced him to look down at her, down at all of her. His breath seemed to grow heavy but he did not retreat. Allowing her to close the distance.

Achoo!

The two of them in unison looked over towards the stable boy who, upon realizing his presence was noticed, quickly rubbed his nose and scurried away with a sheepish smile.

Lothar chuckled, then finished the last of his preparations before turning back to her. "Do you need help with your horses?"

Mira trying her best not to look disappointed nodded her head.

Together they prepared Bloodmane and Nightwind for the morning, with Mira checking them over while Lothar prepared the saddles. Laying them out, setting the cinch, straightening the stirrups as well as checking all the straps and buckles. There was a comfortable silence between them and when they were finally finished, Lothar stretched groaning as he did.

"Heading home?" he asked.

"Yes, and you?"

"I was thinking of walking you home."

Mira narrowed her eyes and smirked a little.

"I would like that. Let me go get my shirt."

It was involuntarily, but Lothar frowned ever so slightly as if he were disappointed. She smiled and held his gaze as she walked away, letting her hips sway as she retrieved the garment, making sure to bend over at the waist as she did. Lothar, who was leaning against a load-bearing frame, tried to appear as if he wasn't staring but was doing a poor job of it. As when she turned to walk back he snapped his head away a little too visibly.

"Ready?" he asked, pushing away from the frame.

"Mm-hm."

As they stepped out onto the cobbled streets of Leoham outside, the air became slightly more fresh. The musky scents of the stables were replaced with the smells of meat, meade and woodsmoke as families gathered for late night meals. The cobblestones, worn smooth by countless footsteps, caught the golden light from torches mounted on timber posts, creating dancing umbrage that played across the half-timbered buildings. Lothar fell into step beside Mira, their boots making soft, rhythmic sounds against the stones. The evening air carried distant laughter from open doorways and the tantalizing aroma of roasted pig mingled with the sweet scent of honey mead being poured into tankards. A gentle breeze rustled the colorful banners hanging above shop entrances, their embroidered sigils—representing various guilds—swaying in unison. The warmth from numerous hearths seeped through cracks in doors and windows, a comforting presence against the cooling night. Lothar found himself acutely aware of Mira's presence beside him, the faint scent of her sweat mixed with something sweet and uniquely her own, an intimate counterpoint to the bustling night life around them.

"The folk seem happy at least," Lothar commented.

"The looming of war and death can make people appreciate the little things more," Mira replied. "Of course the wagons coming in helped too."

Lothar nodded in agreement, though he could not help but feel that the merriment was a fragile thing. A thin veneer over the anxieties that plagued the clan's soul.

"You're worried," Mira observed.

Lothar confessed, "Only a fool wouldn't be. There is a lot at stake for our folk."

"And what will worrying about that now accomplish?"

"Nothing," he huffed. "Nothing at all."

"Exactly," she smirked. "So let's enjoy the walk and the peace while it lasts. And worry about the war when it comes. If it comes."

Lothar felt a knot in his chest loosen slightly. Her pragmatism was a welcome balm to his troubled mind. He smiled at her, a genuine smile that she returned in kind.

"Lothar."

A voice, a masculine one, came from the murk of a nearby alley. Within was a figure, hooded and cloaked, their face obscure, gesturing for Lothar and Mira to come closer. Both reached for their blades, standing at the ready, Mira instinctively looking back the way they came as Lothar concentrated on the figure.

"Who are you?" Lothar asked.

"Not a friend," the figure answered as they lowered the hood to reveal their identity. His bowl cut hair and orange eyes were unmistakable. "But neither an enemy on this night."

Lothar cocked his head in surprise, "Allowin? What is the meaning of this?"

Allowin gestured for Lothar to be silent, "Listen to me and listen to me now. You have to return to your mother quickly."

Lothar's eyes flared, "Why!?"

"Caerth is on his way to her now as we speak," Allowin explained tersely. "And he isn't alone."

The color drained from Lothar's face as it dawned on him what Allowin was warning him about.

"She's in danger Lothar."

***

Karga sang softly as she remained by Baldomar's side, her melodic voice barely rising above the crackle of the hearth. His breath was steady but shallow, each exhalation a faint whisper in the quiet chamber, and he still did not wake, still remaining in a steady slumber that had held him captive for hours now. But the renewed hope that Lothar might find healers that could save her beloved kept her smiling none the less, the corners of her mouth lifting despite the worry that etched fine lines around her eyes. She prayed to both the gods and ancestors to keep Lothar and his companions in safe keeping and for them to succeed in their quest, her fingers intertwined with Baldomar's weathered green hand as if through her touch she might transfer some of her hope to him.

The creak of the chamber door opening drew her gaze to the threshold and she opened her mouth to greet whom she thought would be Lothar but instead, another stood there, his verdant eyes gazing at her with ill intent. Fresh blood  was wet upon both the blade of his and that of his two fellows, the bodies of the sentries outside barely visible past their feet as they stepped in and shut the door behind them.

"Caerth," she hissed. "Are you such a coward that you would kill my husband while he sleeps instead of in a ring of honor?"

"Oh, I'm not here for our good headman my lady," he growled as he unfastened his belt.

"...I'm here for you."