Tusha-6

Glocara sat on a large rock, hands folded over her knees, silent. Tusha crouched nearby, attempting to lift his left hand, but the shoulder allowed only a half-inch before giving in. Sweat and blood stained the grass beneath him. The troll's corpse lay more than ten yards away, a gruesome pile resembling discarded bones in a slaughterhouse corner. The guard had escaped, leaving a severed hand on the ground. It was a moment frozen in time after Glocara's return and farewell; barbaric, low, shattered, and repugnant.

As Glocara watched Tusha torment the guard, she felt no fear. The decision to turn back wasn't the only reason for her farewell; she didn't want to remain ignorant of him forever. Having lived half her life in the mixed-race Booty Bay, she had witnessed enough troll brutality to refuse Tusha when he first proposed to be her assistant. His cruel actions towards the guard revealed more about him than she initially knew. Glocara was finally able to confirm that Tusha was indeed masking something. The scene unfolded before her eyes, unraveling the mysteries hidden within Tusha's elusive character. Moreover, is there anything more normal than ogres battling with Stromgarde soldiers?

Even when Tusha approached her after the fight, she felt no fear. She wanted to ask him who he really was. The sudden disappearance of the rich merchant who forced her out of the White House, the absence of any beastly attacks during the long journey – were they all his doing? Gratitude for saving her from the fire was a sufficient reason, but what she truly desired now was understanding him.

The appearance of the ogre disrupted Glocara's thoughts. The creature had a foolish, ugly face, perpetually mocking the earth beneath its feet. Its grotesque and arrogant form made it nauseating, yet it exhibited an inherent pride in its superiority over smaller creatures. Glocara tried to suppress her imagination every time the ogre's club left a large dent in the ground, and every time Tusha swung his blade, she forced herself not to picture the consequences. She couldn't cheer, scream, or escape – just watch. When the battle ended, she sank back into the abyss of her unanswered questions. The question of "Who are you?" was no longer necessary.

Tusha was still catching his breath. This was the most severe injury he had sustained in his history of battles against ogres. Aging and a prolonged seclusion had dulled his body. In this moment, he recalled leaving his homeland a long time ago. Years ago, upon arriving in the outside world, he vowed towards his homeland: to make his tribe famous within five years. How many sets of five years had passed? Although there had been progress in his research, he couldn't predict the day when his efforts would bear fruit. Now, a stranger had stolen everything he had accumulated, as if the wind had swept away a speck of dust on the plateau.

He also remembered the orc relentlessly seeking a showdown with him. To him, it was an absurd and ridiculous idea, for an orc to risk his life for the mere sake of proving his worth – no reverence for the gods, no respect for ancestors, no ambition to repay the homeland; it was purely individualistic behavior. Yet now, with the ogre's corpse behind him and the captive guard escaping, Tusha felt he shared the same fate as that foolish orc: old and weary. Time was running out. If even that foolish orc could sacrifice everything for a gamble, then Tusha felt he had no reason to rest for too long.

Tusha decided to start healing. The area where the rough club struck his left shoulder resembled a reddish-brown mud left after a receding flood, but thankfully, the bones were intact. He took out a bottle of antiseptic from his bag, opened it, and held the other end of the bottle in his right hand, wrapping it around his left shoulder to pour onto the wound. The awkward position caused most of the tea-colored liquid to spill on his back and the grass. Unexpected pain made Tusha's right hand tremble, causing some antiseptic to spill onto his knee. Annoyed, he leaned forward, attempting to minimize the angle between his shoulder and the ground, allowing the liquid to better cover the wound.

As he tilted his neck sideways, preparing to pour the bottle with his right hand, Glocara approached and grabbed the other end of the bottle.

"Let me do it," she said.

Tusha said nothing, released his grip, and adjusted his posture slightly. Glocara retrieved medical supplies from his bag without a word. In fact, during the entire process of Glocara cleaning, stitching, applying medicine, and bandaging Tusha's wound, both remained silent.

After the last piece of bandage was on, Glocara said, "Done."

Glocara's brief words hung between them like buoys in two calm waters, followed by silence. She wondered what Tusha was thinking. Did he have questions too, like, "Why did you turn back?" In her mind, she mimicked his voice, saying, "Are you starting to fear me now, Miss Glocara?" More likely, he might not be thinking anything at all.

"Miss Glocara," Tusha spoke half a minute later, "I should leave. The escaped guard will bring others."

"Then let's go."

Tusha turned to look at her. "You should head to the refuge valley. Don't move with me anymore."

"It's not possible right now. That guy saw me. In such a situation, he'll surely think we're together."

"True," Tusha scratched his chin. "Let's go a bit farther."

They walked south, leaving the ogre's corpse isolated in the moonlight like a forgotten giant package.

"We were too careless," Tusha said. "Didn't notice the ogre footprints nearby."

"Other ogres won't come after seeing the corpse, will they?"

"Track down enemies for revenge? Ogres don't have such noble hobbies, Miss Glocara. Probably the guy who shared the cave with him is already dancing in celebration, knowing no one will steal his hidden jerky again."

"Oh... these creatures are truly hard to understand."

It was the most natural conversation, as if they had only faced an ogre crisis in the middle of their journey, and the door to reality had never opened. Glocara could be content with this status. Troll killing was not absurd; it would be absurd if she were to loudly question, "Why did you do this?" They were destined to be different from the beginning, and the term "friend" – assuming it was the most convenient term to describe their relationship – meant people who could tolerate differences and build harmonious coexistence beyond those differences. At least, Glocara felt there was no need for anything to change. She hoped Tusha didn't intend to provoke any changes either.

"I'm tired," Tusha sat down after walking for more than ten minutes. "Miss Glocara, think about what you should do now."

"I told you earlier, I can't return to the refuge valley now."

"I plan to sleep now. And today, we can't make a fire. If you also want to rest, I can't guarantee your safety."

"It's easily solved," Glocara also sat on the ground. "Tonight, I'll keep watch."

"You? You won't sleep?"

"I'll sit nearby. If anything happens, I'll wake you up immediately."

"Miss Glocara, you must keep your eyes wide open. If something like before happens again, waking me up may not be enough in time."

"I'll keep my eyes open. Try not to doze off."

"This is no joke."

"I know I like to sleep, but staying awake for once shouldn't be a problem, right?"

"Then I'll leave it to you, Miss Glocara. See you in the morning."

After Tusha finished speaking, he lay down on the ground. Glocara stood up and sat on a nearby rock, watching Tusha's back. After a while, she heard him snoring.

Glocara stood up, walked around for a bit, gazing at the distant mountains in the night, and then sat back on the rock.

Tusha was sleeping, and I was scouting the surroundings. Glocara wasn't arrogant enough to think she was "protecting" Tusha while he slept, but the unexpected role reversal brought her a peculiar sense of excitement, even described as happiness. Tusha's snoring had always been loud, and there were even patients who complained to Glocara that he woke them up at night. So Glocara confronted Tusha, asking him to get rid of this bad habit, or she would kick him out. His response was, "My ancestors had a secret recipe for snoring, but unfortunately, it's lost." Later, Glocara gradually got used to it, and he never woke her up along the way. Tusha's snoring at the moment, along with the involuntary tremors when she applied the medicine earlier due to pain, made Glocara realize how ordinary Tusha's flesh and blood were.

Such thoughts made Glocara feel a bit more at ease, but tranquility gave birth to drowsiness. She thought about closing her eyes to rest, but when she opened them again, she suddenly realized she had lost consciousness for at least five minutes. To drive away the sleepiness, she stood up and walked around, while also becoming interested in Tusha's snakeskin bag, as she saw him trying to take something out of it when he was torturing the guard earlier. Despite her curiosity, it was impossible to go through Tusha's things privately, so Glocara stood in a place where she could see afar, hoping the cold wind and the moonlit wilderness would keep her awake.

At that moment, she saw four riders approaching not far away, and she could already see the color of the horse ridden by the leader. Glocara immediately turned around but found that Tusha had already stood up.

"I heard a sound," Tusha said, walking to Glocara's front and looking in the direction of the newcomers.

"What should we do?" Glocara said. "Should we... go?"

"No need. Doesn't seem hostile. They should be here for me. But Miss Glocara, your sentry skills are not as good as just sleeping until dawn."