Page 32 of My Orc Has Big Tusks
Small things. The kind that mattered.
I made the mistake of passing the driftwhisp enclosure on my way back inside.
Steven appeared at the netting before I’d fully reached it. He hovered there, studying me before he located a small gap in the mesh and flew through, landing on my head.
“Good morning, Steven,” I said, holding still.
He arranged his tendrils and settled, adorning me like he had most days since I’d started work at the rescue league.
A second driftwhisp appeared at the netting, poking her head through the gap.
“No,” I said.
She tilted her head.
“One driftwhisp barrette at a time.”
The lady driftwhisp slipped through the gap and hovered in front of my nose before settling just behind my right ear.
I stood in the yard with two driftwhisp ornaments in my hair and realized this was my life now.
When I made it back inside, Brovish stood in the hall, making notes in his journal. He looked up, his gaze traveling to the top of my head. He blinked, his lips quivering.
“They found a gap in the netting,” I said.
“I see that.”
“I told them there wasn’t room for more than one, but this little one,” I stroked her spine, “made up her own mind.”
“They don’t listen well.”
“I’ve gathered.” I strode past him. “I’m going to check on Cooper.”
“Good idea.” He fell into step behind me, and I could feel him not-laughing at the back of my head the entire way down the hall.
Cooper was doing well, and we left his area and stepped back into the hall.
“Do you have time to tour the outdoor enclosures?” Brovish asked. “I haven’t seen a few of them recently and want to make sure they’re alright.”
This would be the first time we’d been alone since the night I’d arrived to treat Cooper. The realization hit sideways, but I nodded.
“I’d like that.”
We walked out together, Sofia still on my shoulder and two driftwhisps bobbing on my head. The spring air smelled like wet earth and the scent of pine swirled around us.
The enclosures stretched about a quarter of a mile away from the back of the property, separated by sturdy fencing and connected by gravel paths. Brovish led me to the first one, where a bloomback grazed near the fence line.
“There’s one of them. This is Iris,” he said. “She came to us last fall. Her previous handler couldn’t care for her anymore after they moved to the city.”
Iris lifted her head, flowers along her spine shifting from pale yellow to soft pink.
“She does that when she’s content,” Brovish said. “The colors change with their emotions. They drop when they’re stressed.”
The bloomback returned to grazing, her movements slow and peaceful.
Brovish strode to the next enclosure, and I followed. Thankfully, he found the others he’d been missing. No need to call the game warden yet.
He talked about each creature the way other people talked about family. Their names, their histories, and what they’d needed when they arrived.
