Page 5 of The Orc's Protection
“That’s enough, ladies,” I intervene, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Personal questions are for grown-up time, remember? Mr. Vraag is working.”
They retreat, whispering and giggling. I turn to Vraag with an apologetic grimace.
“Sorry about that. They’re still learning what ‘private’ means.”
“I was not… adequately briefed on that possibility,” he admits. His usually impassive face shows a hint of discomfort.
“Welcome to kindergarten,” I say wryly. “Where privacy is a foreign concept.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “In orc culture, younglings do not ask about mating until they receive their first hunt marks.”
Heat creeps up my neck, partly at the word mating, partly because I’m fairly sure a girlfriend question and a mating question are not the same thing, and I have no idea how to explain that right now. “Right. Human five-year-olds are basically tiny gossip columnists.”
“Concerning,” he says with such seriousness that I can’t help laughing.
“Just wait until Valentine’s Day,” I warn.
The whistle blows, signaling the end of recess. As we herd the children back inside, I catch Vraag scanning the perimeter, his posture alert despite our casual conversation. He takes his job seriously, even surrounded by monkey bars and hopscotch grids.
Back in the classroom, I set the children up with art activities while I prepare for our next lesson. Vraag positions himself near the door, ever vigilant.
“Mr. Vraag,” I say quietly when I pass him, “you don’t have to stand guard the entire time. There’s a chair in the reading corner that might fit you.”
He hesitates, then shakes his head. “Standing is preferable. I see more from here.”
“Security awareness. At the Play-Doh table?”
His expression remains serious. “I’ve learned not to assume anywhere is safe.”
The weight behind his words reminds me that he’s not speaking theoretically. I open my mouth to lighten the moment, but a crash from the art center interrupts us. Tyler and Jackson are arguing over the blue marker, their voices rising.
“It’s MINE! I had it FIRST!”
“NO! I NEED it for my OCEAN!”
Before I can intervene, the blue marker goes flying, and Tyler shoves Jackson hard enough to send him tumbling into thesupply shelf. Crayons and safety scissors scatter across the floor as the shelf wobbles precariously.
I lunge forward, but Vraag moves faster than should be possible for someone his size. One massive hand steadies the shelf while the other gently separates the boys. The entire classroom freezes, watching wide-eyed as the giant orc kneels between the squabbling children.
“In the StoneWatch clan,” he says, voice low and calm, “warriors who cannot share resources do not join the hunt.”
The boys stare up at him, momentarily forgetting their argument.
“What’s the hunt?” Tyler asks, distracted from his outrage.
“A great honor,” Vraag says solemnly. “One that requires cooperation. And sharing blue markers.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling as the boys nod seriously, thoroughly chastised. Vraag produces the contested marker from where it rolled under a table.
“Perhaps you both can use it for different parts of your drawings,” he suggests, handling the tiny marker between his massive fingers with almost comical care.
The boys agree with the eager compliance I’ve never quite managed to earn in such situations. As they return to their seats, Vraag rises and resumes his position by the door as if nothing happened.
“The StoneWatch clan, huh?” I murmur as I pass him to collect the scattered supplies. “Convenient discipline technique.”
“Not entirely made up,” he admits. “Though younglings do not join actual hunts until their fifteenth cycle.”
“Well, your intervention skills are impressive.” I glance at the boys, now sharing the marker without complaint. “I think you missed your calling. You should be teaching kindergarten, not guarding it.”
