Page 7 of My Orc Has Big Tusks
“In two to four weeks if it heals well, yes. Otherwise…”
“He’ll always have a home here.”
“I saw the pictures of your placements in the lobby.”
He nodded. “We home any creature that isn’t able to live safely in the wild.”
“I imagine everyone’s begging for one of your creatures.”
He shrugged. “We get a lot of applications, but we’re choosing. We won’t let our friends go to anyone unless we’re completely sure it’s the right home for them.”
“Good.” I loved how he called them friends. That was how I referred to all animals.
He picked up the crate. “Back to the examination room?”
“Yes. Do you have supplies to bind his wing?”
“We do. The vet we’ve been using gave us a list of items to stock, and Traig—he’s basically the manager here—made sure we have everything.”
We walked back down the hall and into the room, where he placed the crate on the table.
After locating what I needed, I gently removed the bird from the crate with the towel again and settled him on the table. Brovish moved the crate out of the way so I could work.
I kept talking to the clatterwing while carefully wrapping the wing to keep it snug against his body, telling him what I was doing in a soft tone of voice. It helped that he was still sedated, but the bird relaxed under my hands, the chiming sound fading to something more melodic.
Brovish stood close, big and solid and silent except for his breathing.
“You have gentle hands,” he said.
I glanced up. He wasn’t looking at me but was watching my hands on the bird’s wing, his expression unguarded in a way it hadn’t been before.
“They have to be,” I said. “Or I hurt them.”
“Not everyone understands that.”
I suspected he wasn’t just talking about the bird.
He was quiet for a moment. “Your coat’s still wet.”
I glanced down. He was right. I’d never taken it off, and it was saturated from the rain. “It’ll dry.”
“There’s a staff room. I can get you something else to wear.”
Orc-sized? I didn’t laugh.
“I’m fine,” I said. “We’re almost done here.”
He nodded but didn’t move away, and I had the strangest feeling that he was studying me the same way I’d been studying him. Taking inventory. Deciding something.
The driftwhisp had settled on top of a cabinet, its silver light dimmed. Sofia had moved to a perch nearby and watched my every move.
“Do you have kennels or small cages?” I asked. “That will work best for him for the first part of his recovery.”
“We do. Out back.”
“He needs to be inside.”
“We have crates both inside and out.”
