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His eyes scanned the area for his bow. It was nowhere to be found. His eyes fell on his tiger, Shia. She looked at him and went back to cleaning her big paws.
“Shia, COME,” he commanded. Dutifully, the tiger stood up and padded her way across the ground. “You didn’t see that?! Why didn’t you help me?!!” he bellowed. He reached back his hand to cuff her on the ear. Seeing his motion, Shia flinched but did not move.
“You gunna hit her for listening to you?”
Grindo spun, reaching for his bow. He found air. That’s right! Where is it?! He turned his head from side to side, trying to find the source of the question or catch a glimpse of his bow.
“W-w-who is there,” he asked, “Do not play games with me.”
He didn’t have his weapon, but being an orc had advantages. He was strong and agile. It wasn’t inconceivable that he could protect himself without it.
“Play games with you? If you play games as horribly as you shoot a bow, I don’t want to play any games with you. If the game was “Kill the Boar About to Eat the Orc” I’ve already won…the game is over.”
His bow slid across the dirt to his feet. He grasped it and picked it up. His fingers found an arrow and he nocked it but didn’t draw. He looked to Shia, but she only looked back at him with her deep yellow-brown eyes. The voice, whoever it was, was right. He had told her to stay where she was. She didn’t disobey him, even as he was being attacked. A puff of smoke and a cracking twig caused him to wheel around. He drew his bow and pointed in the direction of the noise.
“Who’s there,” he demanded.
A voice right behind him said, “You would draw on the guy who just saved your life and gave you back your bow? At least your feline friend has a little sense.”
He whirled again but stumbled backwards and found himself on the seat of his pants. Shia was nuzzling up to a goblin no taller than she was. The goblin took her face in his hands, pressed her cheeks together, and kissed her on the nose. The daggers that hung from his belt seemed too big for him, but still dripped blood. The boar’s blood.
“Name’s Suhli. Do you have a name or should I call you Greeney Mcfailshot?” He extended a hand to help him up, but Grindo swatted it aside and crawled back to his feet.
“Grindo,” he announced gruffly, “My name is Grindo and I can shoot just fine.”
“Noted,” said the goblin called Suhli, “I reckon my work here is done then. Need to get heading off to Orgrimmar. There’s never enough time in a day and time is money, Grindo.”
“Wait, you saved me, let me come with you and buy you a drink,” Grindo said, “Do like to drink?”
“Like it?” Suhli chuckled, “You could say that….”
“Good! What do you drink?”
“Anything but that troll gin. I…uh…had a bad experience once.”
They set off for the gates of Orgrimmar, Grindo wondering what adventures were to come and Suhli yearning to fill his mouth with some free grog…..
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