About
A Humor-Fantasy

Ogre bull cousins Ike, Kriz, and hen Ezra are close enough they could share half a brain. Raised in an affluent clan in the Range, they suffer scrutiny for their famed ancestry. When Ike brings home a human guest from university for the summer, seems the entire Valley goes a little bat cave bonkers when the young man shows too much interest in Ezra. Meanwhile the software company Ike and Kriz started as wee teens is fellin’ acres of trees—ogres hold a sacred love of nature—to expand their business. Lives are imperiled and cultural norms are threatened.

Three Cousins
Black Lake Book 4.1

Chapter One
~

David—or what I usually call him, stinkin’ Little Wus, mostly on the basketball court, or when he irritates me, which is often—’cause, well, he’s a fragile little, bobble-head human—flopped on his bed. If I did that, I’d pick my shiny ogre butt off the floor among shards of bed frame. He let loose a dramatic groan, more a whine.

To be honest, though the human butthead has been my roommate for more years than I would ever confess to in mixed company, I’ve never really figgered out much about his race, so who knows what the sound meant.

True, there are a lot of humans at our little private STEM college here on the Plain, and, well, other than to beat up on em on the basketball court, I’ve never really spent much time tryin’ to understand em. Maybe that’s a character flaw of mine. Or wisdom. ’Cause they’re neither wise nor full of character, as far as I’ve noticed.

“You’re done with finals, huh?”

I think that was actually a statement, cause he shoulda been pretty certain about that. Like we don’t practically live in each other’s pocket, sleep in the same room, share a class here and there, eat together, and humans aren’t the over-sharers that they are.

I almost killed him the first week we met, four years ago. Was overly annoyin’. He didn’t catch on to my deeper ogre growls. Fool. Absolutely no sense of self survival.

Woulda shoulda gone to the dean, asked for an ogre roommate, if Grandpapa Klow hadn’t said categorically when he saw me off for college, that I needed to learn more about humans, to succeed in the business world.

Kriz and I have already been pretty successful. Grandpapa is vastly successful, and I don’t think he can name two humans that he’s well acquainted with—he does hire a lot of orcs, a few trolls. The trolls work mostly in security—it’s a troll-centric career path for a reason. Kriz and I have learned they make great system administrators. Very patient and methodical.

But ignorin’ Grandpapa Klow’s advice is about the idjioticalist thing a bull can do. Bet he was involved in ensurin’ I got a human roommate. His influence is pretty broad. Old goat.

My mind must be wanderin’ some.

I didn’t bother to answer David. Maybe I was pullin’ a Kriz—my autistic cousin—on him. Did David, AKA Little Wus, want to strike up a conversation, or something? He’d just come from takin’ his last exam. Maybe he thought I’d ask him about it. Tut. Not what an ogre bull does. He should know that by now. Like I would care about his current situation.

I turned off my tablet, assumin’ there was no avoidin’ an interaction—’cause I know the human fool pretty well after all these years. Male humans think all time has to be filled with conversation—almost as bad as troll bulls. Maybe female humans are chatty too. But I wouldn’t know. Avoid em. So stinkin’ fragile lookin’. And their voices are so shrill. Maybe less fragile-lookin’ than an orc hen, but orcs have tools to rip yar eyes from yar face, flay ya for the fire.

Glad those I know keep their claws trimmed. Very civilized.

“Why are you worrying your tusk so hard?” David asked.

I hate that he noticed early on, and has made me so aware of my little, uh, it’s not a twitch. I’m not a nervous sort, so it ain’t no anxiety thing. I may have always done it, but he’s the one who made me aware of it.

I’ve found I do it a lot when I’m studyin’. Not IT stuff, which is creative, more EE stuff. There is art in code, buildin’ networks from scratch. To this day I can’t believe I let the fool talk me into minorin’ in EE—his major—instead of business. But I got him back. Now he minors in MIS. Says it’s too easy. Jerk.

Good thing Cousin Kriz is coverin’ our business side. As my partner in crime and demise, as Grandpapa Klow quips, one of us should know the difference between a balance sheet and a spec sheet.

I took in our mostly packed up dorm room—maybe as much not to look at David. No more nerdy posters on the walls, human knickknacks strewn about. Don’t know why humans like to hang stuff on their walls and litter every surface. Boxin’ our last study materials and strippin’ our beds, and we could head our own directions.

“I know. You’re thinking about how much you’re going to miss me,” he said.

I turned slowly to give him a glare. “That must be it.”

“Must really be feeling guilty about asking Thomas to join you in the Hamlet for the summer, instead of your best friend.”

I never invited Thomas. Can’t recall how it happened.

Oh, he said something else idjiotic. I asked him who he thought my best friend is.

David crossed his hands over his chest for some reason. Dropped his little human mouth open. He’s my roommate, I don’t know why he thinks that automatically makes him my best friend. But then, Thomas is far from my best friend and he’s going to the Hamlet with me for summer break.

He invited himself. Maybe twenty times.

I really don’t know how it happened—me sayin’ fine, whatever, or something. The human should go into politics. I was definitely manipulated. Stinkin’ manipulator. Be a good con artist. Which I guess is what a politician is.

I thought back to Mama’s reaction when I told her about bringin’ Thomas home. She said something like, one human is as bad as another. She’s got quite the sense of humor. Machete sharp.

Took David a few visits to figger out she’s a humongous tease—as long as she never has her fists on her hips. She should wear a “zero days free of sarcasm” sign. I could get her a cup with that on it.

That first winter visit, Mama scared a decade of life out of David. Shoulda put him in a diaper. Only the ton of ogre-style barbecue she pushed at him the next couple of weeks allowed him to recover. He prolly gained twenty pounds. Humans don’t have an ogre’s metabolism. Mama may have force-fed him. Under pressure. An ogre hen has a glare that can put fear in a one-ton steer, intimidate a cliff face to sheer. We bulls make it a focal point of life not to antagonize em.

“You don’t have to feel so guilty about leaving me out in the cold,” David blathered. “Stabbing me in the back and all.”

I think I looked at him one-eyed. What was the fool talkin’ about?

“I can read the pain on your ugly, I mean homely ogre face.”

That moment I think I intellectually interpreted my emotional unease with Thomas. There’s something about him that wasn’t clickin’ right in my itty bitty brain, more than his manipulative nature.

On the court, it’s easy to ignore his little obnoxious traits. His trash talkin’ can even come across as funny. But there’s always an unnecessary, demeanin’ character to it. Did I really want to bring that home? Trust. That’s what it is. Couldn’t say I completely trust him. Though I can’t put my finger on why.

Grandpapa Klow once said to me, look at those ya associate, and ya peer into a mirror of yar character. Something like that. Grandpapa loves to drop little dollops of wisdom. He cracks me up.

He always leaves me with a bit to mull over.

But I’ve never heard Thomas be less than respectful around elders. A key tenant of ogre culture—respect yar elders—and fear hens.

Say what ya want to my face. I can crush a fool if I feel like it, get really annoyed. That I don’t, displays character, in my mind. But I’ve never had to talk myself out of crushin’ Thomas.

~ Ezra ~

“Watch that knife.” Zarade’s snappin’ voice made me lurch. Thankfully my razor-sharp kitchen knife flowed upward, and not down at my fingers. “Get yar mind into what ya’re doin’ or get out of my kitchen and go where yar mind is wanderin’.”

Glaar giggled, what trolls call a giggle, and said, “The poor ogre’s thoughts are on those two cute cousins of hers due back today.”

“I know what her mind’s twirlin’ on about,” Zarade snarled. “I just don’t need a one-handed ogre hen in my kitchen.”

Vlasketh—accent on the keth, we usually just call her Vlas—just had to join in. “I’m lookin’ forward to seein’ that cutie pie cross-eyed one. He treats us orcs special.”

Special? “Kriz ain’t cross-eyed,” I growled. He just won’t look at ya level-like. Hates eye contact, like it might steal his soul.

“What’d I tell ya about that growlin’?” As though Zarade isn’t known to growl—like most of the time. The hypocrite.

Glaar laughed, what trolls call a laugh. “An ogre that can’t growl is like an ogre without lungs. Die right shortly.”

“Growl in here, she’s gonna growl in front of a poor human guest and send em into a tizzy. Em fragile folk pass out just hearin’ the Inn’s seasonal room rate.”

“They aren’t that fragile,” Vlas mumbled. Orcs are bad about talkin’ under their breath. Kinda sneaky like. I’ve wondered in the past if it has something to do with their itty bitty, pointy-sharp teeth.

“Ya can’t even smile in front of em,” Glaar said. Musta been readin’ my mind.

“I’ve never figgered why yall have a problem with our teeth,” Vlas said. “We’re beautiful folk.”

“Of course ya are, and short, like little pancakes,” Zarade said without lookin’ Vlas’ way. And spindly, I added mentally. Glaar laughed—for a troll hen, she’s fast to humor. “Now get to carvin’ that carcass or we aren’t gettin’ no food out to the buffet.”

I busied myself arrangin’ the vegetable platter I’d been fussin’ with—a change of pace from my key responsibility, carvin’ the carcasses. No figgerin’ what humans see in chompin’ down on carrots, radishes, and such. Cucumbers? Ick. Texture of thick pond scum. If a thing doesn’t bleed, no reasonable ogre’s gonna wanta touch it.

“Ya got yar mind into it?” Zarade asked me softly.

I nodded. I can lie—on the inside—don’t think the gods will spite us for inner sins. Now I’m worryin’ what the gods think of my thoughts. My mind has been everywhere this morning.

Zarade asked when Ike and Kriz get in. Kriz’ flight’s sposed to touch down two-ish. Who knows about Ike. A five hour drive, but that bull will be late to his own stinkin’ dirge singin’.

“I can grab one of the servers to help in here, if ya wanta go,” Zarade said, even softer.

“No. Not necessary. And ya can stop watchin’ every move I make, or ya’ll find a veggie platter in yar ear.”

Glaar and Vlas laughed. Vlas offered that was something she wanted to see. Zarade offered to measure a platter for her over-sized orc mouth.

That got a smile out of me, as I dashed water off the celery, next to join my four-foot platter. Celery. What is the stinkin’ value of that weed? Cows won’t even eat it.

“Ya shoulda joined one of yar cousins,” Vlas said, “instead of messin’ around at the Hamlet community college. Not like ya aren’t as bright as em.”

“Never had the slightest interest in runnin’ my own business,” I said, “creatin’ software systems for companies and municipalities.” I said that last word like it’s a common one used in the Range. It ain’t. A proper place is a hamlet or village. Sister and brother, son, daughter. Other words that haven’t really caught on among us. Honestly, I like sister and brother some—a ton shorter than hen sibling, or bull sibling. Go figger. A youngling to us is a son. Otherwise, it’s hen youngling. Those terms are—endearin’.

“So ya’re gonna stand on yar feet ten hours a day the rest of yar life with us?” Vlas asked. “Ya’re a Birs. Ya could buy and sell ten Inns.”

I hate livin’ under the Birs expectation. Been tired of it for twenty years. “Rather learn everything in Zarade’s head about runnin’ a kitchen and dining room, than sittin’ in front of a computer, with a headset danglin’ over my ears.”

“We are more entertainin’ to work with than wrestlin’ the average bear,” Glaar offered.

“Well, I’m entertainin’,” Vlas offered. “Not so sure about ya old back-bent ogre and troll hens.”

“That was rude,” Glaar and Zarade said together.

“Who’s bein’ rude?” Chanz asked, steppin’ into the kitchen from the cold cellar, hands full with a platter containin’ two roasted turkeys and a pig carcass. She slammed the door behind her with her booted foot.

Don’t know why, this day and age, goblins still wear those awful things on their feet. We love the feel of Range pine needles.

Zarade gave Chanz a stern glare, but didn’t put her irritation to words. Guess she’s given up on any chance of coercin’ the teen goblin hen to be less rambunctious. Never met a goblin with a gentle thread about em. So different than their near-cousins, the sweet orcs.

Not waitin’ for an answer, Chanz asked me when Ike was sposed to arrive. Stink. There ain’t an unmated hen of any race in the Range not countin’ the hours down. The poor bull’s gotta be as tired of his female followin’ as I am our Birs ancestry. Eh. Not that I’m not proud of our heritage. The near-slobberin’ over it, yep.

“She doesn’t know,” Zarade snapped.

“Forgive me for breathin’,” Chanz mumbled, droppin’ the heavy platter on the stainless steel counter hard enough to rattle the Inn’s shingles.

Zarade turned to her, extended a long, chubby ogre finger at her. And glared.

“What?” the clueless hen muttered. She otherwise doesn’t come across as dull-witted. Could she intentionally aspire to irritate Zarade every chance she gets? Musta. Not wise to go out of yar way to irritate a stinkin’ ogre hen—even for a goblin hen. I think that’s struck on a Continental coin. Or should be. Know it’s a common theme on many an ogre temple. More so than the dangers of angerin’ the gods. Prolly, not really.

Odd we ogres talk a lot about fearin’ to anger the gods, but we rarely find time to honor em with a visit to their shrines. But then, I guess gods don’t actually have to hang around a structure we build. We’re taught they live in the trees, the hills, the sky. Pretty much everywhere, and able to smite us for fun if they choose.

Maybe we don’t hear much from em these days because they crossed into the other realm with their favorites, the dragons, back, long ago. That would be considered pretty blasphemous, maybe. I’ll keep the thought to myself.

Regardless, most ogres fear our gods something serious. Goblins think we’re a little nuts about em. Not fearin’ the gods is prolly what got em so ripped apart, way back in the wars—just me thinkin’. Prolly shouldn’t do that as much as I do.

~

Chapter 2
~

Thomas shoulda brought along a toddler’s bumper chair, considerin’ how he struggled to see over the OM’s—Ogre Motors—dash. He turned his head to look out his window.

Ten seconds of watchin’ the pines flip passed, he shouted, “Pull over, pull over.”

Maybe I reacted a little slowly, because he barely got his glass down, before he lurched over the side and lost his stomach. Aw, stink. Prolly did stink. Worst part, he was prolly splashin’ the side of my truck. I love my truck. A high school graduation present from Grandpapa Klow, for the whole valedictorian thing. Or was it for that first ten-million Continental contract Kriz and I inked the week before? Grandpapa thought that was a pretty cool deal, for a couple teens.

Kriz and I never saw many Continentals from that contract. Grandpapa Klow made sure we rolled it into the company. Our first thirty full-time hires, I think. Think Papa was in agreement. Didn’t think a seventeen and fourteen-year-old needed a lot of cash in our pockets. So I guess the truck was a consolation prize—to get me off my motorcycle. He’s always hated my motorcycles.

By the time I got the truck hung over the highway’s narrow shoulder with my hazard lights on, Thomas was hangin’ halfway out of the truck, prolly on maybe his fifth hurl, his hands strugglin’ to mind a proper grip on the door frame. Appeared a bit uncomfortable. Besides the whole turnin’ his stomach inside out, thing.

What the blazes. I waited for a couple hundred cars to pass before I could safely slide out of the truck. In the back, I grabbed about inside a duffle til I found a tee, and hurried over to the other side, scrapin’ my back against the cliff face I pulled up against. I grabbed Thomas’ skull in my hand to give the human a little support. Figgered that was the best way I could help.

It’s a character flaw I considered accidentally grippin’ a little too tightly and bustin’ his skull into pieces. Never woulda done that. Why the thought entered my brain—no figgerin’.

Once he appeared to be finished hurlin’, I handed him my tee as he slumped back inside the cab.

“Ya’ve never been on a mountain road?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Sorry about that.” He spit into my tee and wiped a bit more, includin’ his tongue. Gross. Won’t be askin’ for that shirt back. “Stomach went from a four to a ten like nothing.”

I guess watchin’ the trees fly past can do that. “We need to turn around?” Say yes. Say yes.

Didn’t know humans could look that embarrassed. On the face of the biggest trash-talker I’ve ever played B-ball with. About that time an eighteen-wheeler gushed by. My dreads fluttered in my face. Maybe a bit of gravel. I wiped grit off my lips.

“Ya might have warned me ya get car sick,” I said.

“Never gotten sick before,” Thomas mumbled. Still looked a bunch whiter than usual. “Not a lot of winding roads with a million switchbacks on the North Plain.”

I laughed. Something I don’t do often, but in my mind I imagined the mile-long yardsticks engineers use layin’ out highways on the plains. I asked Thomas if he had any gum to chew. “That’ll help, maybe.”

He shook his head, really slowly. “Can ya, maybe, just drive a bit under the speed limit? Easier on the tight curves?”

Not like I’m eager to get home. I could imagine the hug Ezra will lay on me. Love that cousin so much. She puts the S and W in sweetness—maybe a couple more letters. With the hundreds of Birs cousins dropped everywhere across the Range, I’m glad I got the two best to call best friends.

“Or maybe a bit more than a bit?” Thomas added. Sweat beaded his forehead, though it’s a good fifteen degrees cooler here than the plain we started on. It’ll be thirty degrees cooler by the time we reach the Hamlet. Funny how fourteen-thousand-foot peaks avoid the change of seasons.

Another rig with a double trailer flashed past, the driver givin’ us a horn toot, as though I didn’t know this was a terrible place to pull over. I waited a full minute before traffic allowed me to get back in the truck.

A week from officially bein’ summer yet, half the population of the Plain is headin’ into the Range. Prolly-definitely still a bunch of broken up ice in shadowed coves on the Lake. Another couple miles into the mountains and all the south-facin’ cliffs will still be painted with snow and ice.

Buckled up, still had to wait a couple minutes for a lull in the traffic to pull out. And quickly a long line of cars piled up behind me.

~ Ezra ~

I grabbed Kriz and lifted him up good, twirled him around. Twice wasn’t good enough. I went for three whirls. As much because he hates to be touched as for my excitement for his return. A hen has to get her grins where she can. Bulls are so sensitive.

I could feel his resentment in my bones. “Hen,” he growled into the side of my head. “Spec—ta—cle.”

“Don’t care,” I said. “Ya’ve been gone over four months. Ya coulda called me a couple times.”

Like he could get a conversation out on the phone, without textin’. The family didn’t realize he was a genius until he was three and picked up a cousin’s trigonometry book. Thought it was funny until he got to the end of a unit and began completin’ the review problems, correctly. He’d hardly said more than mama, before then. Since I was in second grade, I always had a quiet math tutor at hand. He was very patient with me.

He embedded a tusk lovin’ly into my head so I let him down. “Ya miss me?” I asked.

“No,” he growled.

“Did too, ya idjit. Or ya wouldn’t have texted me, ‘good night,’ at seven every night.” He had started the habit at ten when he first went away to university—had to explain to him brusquely that my duties at the Inn get me out of bed at four in the morning.

“Was—bored,” he said.

Was all I could manage, not to laugh up a gizzard. “So. Ya finished with two master’s degrees, huh?” I’d never admit I was proud of him.

He shrugged, like his accomplishment was nothing for a seventeen-year-old, and picked up the five-foot-long duffle he’d dropped when I attacked him. I reached to grab it from him and he fought me gallantly. I still got it out of his hand. Not that I was rubbin’ in that he’s somewhat small in stature, for an ogre. But I could see it had to have a couple tons of books in it. Course he didn’t ship em home.

“Ike?” he asked.

“Texted. Evidently his new human buddy gettin’ car sick. Be a little bit later than he expected.”

“Why—humans?” He shook his head. Funny. Not that Kriz shows an appreciation for any giants or little folk either. He’s generically rude and disrespectful to everyone. Distrustful as well. Though he’s always displayed a quirky appreciation for orc hens. Go figger. Hmm. Grandpapa Klow does too. All his ranchhouse staff are orcs, pretty sure.

“Why’d he go to school on the North Plain to begin with?” I countered. “Shoulda been out east protectin’ ya from yarself.”

“Didn’t—need—”

“Of course ya can keep care of yarself. Even though ya’re a halfwit.” I gave him a shoulder to shoulder shove.

He growled. I gave him a big grin. Stink, I love the weird little bull.

“Said—one more—semester.”

He meant, until Ike finished his bachelor’s. “Not everyone can complete six years of university with double majors before they’re eighteen,” I said.

“Ike—always was—a bit—slow.”

“Yep. Yar mama’s excited to see ya. I caught a tear in her eye when she handed me her car fob and told me to come pick ya up.” Funny, that she appreciated how excited I was to pick him up.

“Papa?”

Surprised he asked about his papa. The two have an odd, hands off relationship. Razi always struggled havin’ a youngling who couldn’t talk. Talk right. Despite his obvious genius. But the average bull is ignernt when it comes to relatin’ to just about anyone or anything in general. My experience. Aunt Dorig once explained, donnin’ a severe expression, that we hens have to use itty bitty words with bulls.

“At the office, of course,” I answered. “Texted me to give ya a hug for him. Sorry. Forgot to tell ya that. But he’ll be home early for dinner.”

“Hmm,” Kriz mumbled.

“Yep. He acknowledged ya were returnin’ today. He’s aloof, but he isn’t a complete—” I shouldn’ta used the Ogrish noun I used. That wasn’t respectful.

“Hmm,” Kriz mumbled, ignorin’ my poor choice of words.

I had to laugh. Don’t really think he thinks his papa’s a— Not like Kriz understands any facet of emotions to begin with. I know in his heart he loves as big as anyone, there’s just a lock on the box that would allow him to show it.

“Ya gonna give me any time before ya stop by yar office and never come out? How many employees ya got now, in the Hamlet? Seventy-two?” ’Cause they got a bunch of sales crews all over that work on commission.

“Hired—a QT—and—a resource manager—hen—last week.”

That last one, Ike told me humans call an HR manager. Very racist title. Like only humans require whatever those folks do. “Don’t think ya’re sposed to refer to employees as hens, this day and age.”

He blew a raspberry. Strong emotion for him. I had to give him a look. Don’t think he noticed me studyin’ him.

“Bein’ home now, full time. Ya know ya’re gonna have to give yar employees breathin’ room, huh?”

He gave me a glare as we sided up to the suitcase delivery slide-along-thing. “How’d ya get this duffle on the plane? And why didn’t ya just check it?”

He shrugged. Too funny. They prolly got tired of arguin’ with the mute fool about it being too big for a carryon. Packed it behind the pilot’s seat. Too funny. He could have just explained that his clan owns the airline. Maybe they took note of the d Birs on his ID.

~

Chapter 3
~

That was such a long drive. I stretched my back out a bit after I slid out of my truck. Never have driven under the speed limit before. The council is pretty conservative when it comes to speed limits—deer are for huntin’ not decoratin’ yar hood, is the common expression. I left the fool human leanin’ against my right-rear quarter panel suckin’ air. Pretty sure his struggle for oxygen was only partially because of the Valley’s elevation. For a human, he showed a bunch of perseverance the last three hours. Only asked me to pull over one other time to upchuck.

I caught Ezra in flight, and we swung around together for an hour or so, before I got her safely to the ground onto two settled, bare ogre feet—think she cracked a couple of my vertebrae, jammed a tusk completely through my skull. But she was still holdin’ me tight, with a tusk still pressed into my head just above my ear. Maybe she likes me. Be convenient to be as tall as her. Pish. As tall as most other ogre bulls.

Kriz and the rest of his folk trudged toward us. Kriz may have been checkin’ out the birds in the trees, not showin’ interest. But I think he’s prolly good with me bein’ home too.

A lot of ogre growlin’ and hugs past, I finally got a chance to give Kriz a sharp chuck to the chest. He didn’t appear irritated, so he was indeed happy to have me home. I counted cousins. Yep. The good ones were all here. All of em prolly more ecstatic the one cousin who can somewhat control Kriz is home.

I caught Aunt Karzy’s glare directin’ behind me, and turned. Thomas stood mostly erect now, though maybe a bit shakily, and studied us with a bit of, I’ll call it horror, on his face. Maybe all our ogre growlin’ takes a human off their stride. Definitely remember David freakin’ out a bunch his first visit.

I gave him a wave. “Come meet my aunt, uncle, cousins.”

He stood frozen several long seconds. “They’re family? Sounded like they were getting ready to kill you.”

Everyone, except for Thomas and Kriz, laughed up half an organ at that one. Which maybe scared him more. Our laughs aren’t that much like the human variety. Thomas has so much to learn. Odd, livin’ on the Plain and bein’ so ignernt of giant ways.

Ezra, of course Ezra, took the initiative to stride toward the idjit human with her hand out. We can shake hands. Not a historically ogre thing, but we can meet a human half-way. We mostly just growl our hellos.

Terrifically enjoyed watchin’ Thomas’ head tilt back to maintain eye contact as my favorite cousin neared. He likes to brag that at six-three, he’s a tall human.

“Welcome to the Hamlet,” she told him.

I listened to see if she cracked any of his metacarpals, or broke his wrist—dislocated his shoulder. A lot of us tend to forget humans are really fragile. But he didn’t even grimace as Ezra pumped his hand, and introduced herself.

Was that a bit of dribble runnin’ over his lip as she draped an arm around him and pulled him toward the rest of us?

“Come meet my favorite aunt,” she was tellin’ him—which I’m pretty sure was for Karzy’s account. I’m certain my mama is her favorite aunt.

If his knees were shakin’ from nausea before, they were swervin’ about good now.

~ Ezra ~

Elation. My head may explode. Havin’ Kriz and Ike home. No better word for the gushin’ emotion floodin’ my chest. Almost painful. In the opposite way it felt when the two bulls originally left the Valley.

Was cruel, lettin’ the fourteen-year-old Kriz leave for college, only to lose Ike the next year. Kriz was ready to leave at thirteen, but hung around to take classes locally, only because I put my foot down. Pretty sure Razi and Karzy were ready for him to leave two years earlier than that. They love him, I think, but never figgered out how to deal with him. There is no dealin’ with him. Ya just have to stand back and let Kriz be Kriz. Don’t think they’ll ever get it.

As I introduced the little human child to the cousins, standin’ back and takin’ the human in, a strange thought struck, despite it being a tiny, spindly thing with no tusks—he was cute, in a soft, cuddly way.

The gang got quiet as Kriz chose not to shake the human’s hand. His mama quickly explained her youngest doesn’t like to be touched. Which is true. But there was something else. Kriz is quick about makin’ judgments. Usually accurate, in my experience. But I think without a single conversation, the bull had decided there was something off about the human. Stink. Let the human utter a couple words first, cousin.

As we straggled into Razi and Karzy’s domain, I fought my irritation, of Kriz’ unfair assessment. For one, I would do my best to make the human feel at home. It was the right thing to do. It had been so much easier with David. His constant grin and sarcasm made ya wanta hug him for no reason—we ogres love sarcasm, in the fashion trout love a clear mountain stream, bears like to mark a tree.

I hated bein’ angry at Kriz. Haven’t had enough time with him the last four years to absorb the goodness in him, certainly didn’t want to be smacked in the face with his human prejudice.

As we settled around the twenty-foot-long dining table and Karzy began layin’ out a snack to hold the gang till dinner, I watched the human closely. Seemed he was strugglin’ in an envelope of fear and turmoil. I’d forgotten how humans prefer quiet, calm. Been since high school, visitin’ the homes of the few Hamlet humans in my tiny circle, but remember how I had to work not to—overwhelm em.

And I’m a quiet ogre. Reserved. Ask anyone.

~

Chapter 4
~

“He owns his own place?” Thomas asked. “What is he, fifteen?”

The impulse to slap the stupid out of Thomas visited again. Like when he said, “You people eat a lot, huh?” We aren’t stinkin’ people, we’re giant folk. And we were just havin’ a snack. We’d eat dinner when we got home—my home.

Why was I so ticked off at Thomas—his people faux pas aside? I’d been tryin’ so hard to accept the human’s manner.

“Is he a half-wit?” Thomas asked.

I hit the brakes hard and twisted his way. The rumble deep in my chest stirred, and Thomas scooted as far against the passenger door as he could. Eyes popped.

“Prolly every point of sale register ya’ve ever stood in front of, whether buyin’ a hot dog, biddin’ at a stock yard, or schedulin’ a flight relies on his technology,” I growled. He’d prolly never attended a stock yard auction. But still.

“Uh. Uh. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean anything. It’s just he didn’t say a word the two hours we were at your uncle’s place.” Aunt Karzy would sniff over that remark—the ‘uncle’s’ part.

I glared. An SUV slowly pulled around us, makin’ me aware I sat in the stinkin’ middle of the main Hamlet drag.

“Uh. Really didn’t mean. To. You know. Insult.”

I turned forward and took my foot off the brake. It would take us fifteen seconds before I pulled up at home. What should I do? Set this fool straight? If he said something that stupid in front of Mama he’d likely loose his head, and we’d spend hours waitin’ for a backhoe to bury his body up in some ravine. My brain flipped to the perfect place. We wouldn’t have to wait for a backhoe. Gotta be plenty of shovels and picks in the shed.

“Your cousin, Ezra, is really sweet,” he said, settlin’ me down a tad. “She’s really pretty.” Pretty? Comin’ from a human, that had to be a lie. Oh. He was tryin’ to butter me up for his idjitry.

The rumble of my tires on cobblestone was the only sound in my truck for five seconds. I sensed he opened his mouth again. I took a right toward home.

“I maybe, should have, gotten a little heads up what to expect, up here.”

Yeah. Maybe. I pulled into the narrow drive. Only Papa’s SUV and Mama’s sports coup filled the carport. So my bull and hen siblings didn’t stick around for dinner, if they’d assembled at all to welcome me home. They woulda known I’d visit with Kriz and Ezra first thing. I have two months to find time to spend with em before I head back.

“Cool looking place,” Thomas said.

“Wait until ya’ve stepped out on the terrace and take in the Lake under the fadin’ light.”

“Heard you all kind of, feel the Lake is, kind of alive.”

He was tryin’. Prolly shouldn’t open his mouth for the next two days, though. Culturally acclimate a bit first. He’s not in Kansas no more.

The side door opened and Papa strode out. I didn’t even bother to cut the engine yet, jumped out to greet him. Mama followed five feet later, and the two grasped me in a hug, not as a tag team, which woulda been a bit more fair, instead double teamed me. I couldn’t breathe for too long to complain. Tusks clubbed both sides of my head. Who said ya can never go home. I was maybe cryin’ deep inside. I’d missed them so much. Which maybe is a bit odd, considerin’ Papa and I are usually on opposite sides of every issue. Miscellaneous thought.

After Papa dropped me to my feet, he turned toward my truck, eyes fallin’ on my guest. Papa whispered, “Heard already this one’s quite the jerk.” That took me aback.

“Who the heck told ya that?” I growled.

“Everyone,” Mama answered for him, though she strode toward Thomas, hand out to welcome him.

I whispered a quick, “Don’t hurt him.”

“Except for Ezra,” Papa said softly. “Heard she seemed kinda sweet on him. Go figger.”

Oh. That would be enough for the entire clan to turn defensive. Maybe that had irritated me too. He had paid a bit too much attention to her. That moment, Thomas bent at the knees some. Ya go, Mama. Break his hand—I didn’t mean that. But the stinkin’ human never passes me the rock anyway. Doesn’t need his right hand. Let him stick to left-handed lay ups.

Papa was talkin’ about us being on the road so long. Yep. He’d heard Thomas hurled a hundred times. Not quite that many. But I lost count.

“Ya little bulls are hungry, I hope,” Mama said, draggin’ Thomas along with her. Pretty sure Thomas was already questionin’ his brilliance for nigglin’ his way into my summer vacation.

Thomas mumbled something like, “Didn’t we just eat enough for two weeks?”

“Good,” Mama gushed. “Be ashamed if my inlaws hadn’t gotten ya a snack to warm ya up for a real meal.”

I asked about my siblings, as Papa walked over and turned off my truck, slung bags he could reach from the driver’s side down his arm. Papa Bliar isn’t a massive ogre, but a half-ton of luggage ain’t gonna slow down the gray-dreaded bull.

“They got lives of their own,” Mama answered me. “Ya can get off yar shiny ogre butt and meet up with em in the next few days. Shouldn’t have taken yar time comin’ over the passes.”

Even Mama’s gonna take a few passive aggressive swipes at my human guest. Ya go, Mama. And after years of adjustin’ to David. She almost loves him now. Not that she’d ever admit to it.

~ Ezra ~

I sat with Kriz on the terrace, me holdin’ his hand, which he hates. Glad he gives me a bit of satisfaction from time to time. But he would be takin’ his hand back soon.

“Bet ya missed this view,” I said. The sun was well below Dragons Ledge. The Lake had already slipped past its best purple vestiges. But no view of the Lake is to be dismissed. It’s necessary for survival to Valley residents.

Kriz’ bull and hen siblings stepped out and wished us both a good night, wished Kriz a last welcome home. As the door closed, I sensed Kriz’ hand actually envelope mine.

“Don’t—get too—friendly. With that—human—boy.”

Other than bein’ about as long a sentence I’ve heard him utter in a while, the sentiment struck me more dramatically. Irritated me a little more than that. I turned from our sunset and peered into the silhouette of his face. I’d ask him. But he’d hate to struggle through an explanation. So just wouldn’t say a word.

“Ya’ll put an explanation of that in an email, huh?” I asked. “Or even a text, maybe?”

He didn’t answer for a while. Then, “No.”

Hmm. So. He’d shared all he was gonna say on the topic. But that wasn’t good enough. “I liked him. I’m gonna invite him to take a hike with me in the morning.” Zarade would have to make do without me, through one lunch rush.

Kriz exhaled hard. But didn’t take his eyes off the Lake.

He let go of my hand and drew his back into his lap. Almost as though that was a punishment for what I said. We sat in silence a few minutes.

“Ya can be protective,” I said. “Or ya can be smotherin’. Neither is appreciated.” Maybe he nodded. Prolly not. Maybe just a swell of thoughts roarin’ around in his head made him teeter a bit.

The pink barely-still surroundin’ Dragons Ledge turned deep orange and then purple in seconds. A shriek of sun shafts struck through the mix of clouds for ten seconds, before the sky darkened to pure purple with only the hint of yellow outlinin’ the mountain.

“Love. Ya,” he murmured.

The door behind us opened, before my head could get around the bull’s unexpected two words. Ike stuck his head out. “If ya truly want a ride home, let’s go. Mama just called, wantin’ me home. Not that she said that. But I’m leavin’. If ya’re goin’ with—”

I really wanted to go camp out with Kriz. But he hadn’t invited me over to his place. Could he ever desire company? Besides, I’d be at the Inn hours before the sun rose, gettin’ a dozen carcasses smokin’ for the next day. Four on the ole clock face clicks early. I watched Kriz stand and stride off without sayin’ another word. Ike and I shared a wave and a smile.

So hard havin’ someone ya love so much, on the spectrum.

~

Chapter 5
~

On the bright side, Thomas didn’t vomit once last night. He even had a bit of color in his cheeks this morning. On the irritatin’ side, he was wanderin’ around the office botherin’ all our team members. He stared at the trolls too hard, drawin’ more than a couple growls. And they’re not as easily riled as us ogres. Thomas was peculiarly curious about our couple of orc partners. He’d never seen an orc before, he mumbled for about the fifth time.

Then his wanderin’ went too far for Ezo.

“That’s a lot of computers,” Thomas mumbled, eyes bouncin’ along the tops of the racks ten feet up, as I grabbed him at the shoulder of his jacket and dragged him out of the server room.

“How’d ya get in here?” I growled.

“Followed that tall guy in,” he said, pointin’.

“She hear ya callin’ her a guy, that hen will rip yar head off yar shoulders. She’s our lead hardware engineer.”

“She? A troll, right?”

He hadn’t wised up enough to distinguish trolls from ogres yet? May the gods protect us. Maybe Thomas needed more protectin’ than the rest of us. I growled at him to stay away from the servers.

I let go of him, maybe roughly, and he pulled his phone from a back pocket. “Ah. It’s Ezra.”

That pushed my irritation a bit louder in my brain, maybe ricochet a couple times against synapses I prolly really need. He repeated the word hike a couple times. I headed back to what we call the bull pen—a baseball reference, not a misogynist one. The technical staff, includin’ me, don’t have individual offices, except for Kriz, who needs silence to work—honestly, mostly to keep him away from everyone else. Lest they kill him.

This morning Kriz dropped in for a couple minutes, not to say hey to anyone, just to make sure the place hadn’t burned down while we’d been outa town. He’d be happily settled, workin’ in his home office now.

I sat and a line quickly queued up at my desk. Our folks aren’t used to havin’ access to either me or Kriz. Rely on texts that may or may not be answered within the next couple hours. So they’ve always been forced to work really independently, which has worked well for the company, but oddly when we’re in the Hamlet, they seem unable to get enough of us. Well, me. They prefer to text with Kriz.

Why do intelligent, professional folk who normally work exclusively from design documents and project plans flock to me just ’cause I’m not three hundred miles away?

I ignored Thomas shiftin’ his weight like a five-year-old who needed to pee. He had something to say, but couldn’t get around the throng of ogres and trolls surroundin’ my desk. Plus it was kind of easy hidin’ behind the three archin’, thirty-inch monitors that blocked me from one side.

Next thing, Thomas and Ezra were givin’ me a wave from the entrance. What? I checked my watch. It was a bit after eleven. Stink. Time flies. The word hike came to mind again. Surely she wasn’t takin’ him off hikin’. Surely. Like that wouldn’t raise a brow on anyone.

~ Ezra ~

The human had finally lost his chatty. Hardly shut his mouth last night. His hands sure moved about a lot—when he wasn’t warmin’ em between his legs. Makes sense it would take him a bit to acclimate to the cooler mountain air. I remember Ike complainin’ about the heat on the Plain. Like every time we spoke. Maybe the past couple years he’s acclimated some. I pulled into the trailhead parking and Thomas jerked. What was that about?

“Dark under these trees,” were his first words since I picked him up at Ogre Ware.

“Get darker as we climb deeper into the woods,” I said, gettin’ out of my truck and slammin’ the door behind me. He’d get the idea it was time to get out, right?

A second later he clamored out after me, and asked about wolves and bears. I told him there were millions up here. Think he about wet himself.

“They’ll leave us alone,” I rushed to say. Should I warn him the moose are a lot more dangerous? Cranky beasts. Hate everything—except the birds that eat the ticks off em. Thankfully they mostly stick around the swampy valleys, deeper in the Range.

I was already twenty feet up the trail before I realized he wasn’t followin’ me. I turned around. I clearly hadn’t wiped out his worry for wolves and bears. His eyes were huge. Good thing I didn’t mention the moose. Humans have very demonstrative features. I asked him what’s up.

“Why would wolves and bears leave us alone?” he asked.

I chortled, which maybe frightened him a bit. I guess he hasn’t learned about ogre chortles. And I thought he was one of Ike’s big basketball buddies. Well. Ike doesn’t chortle much.

“What’d I say,” he said. “I didn’t mean to say anything insulting.”

I explained that I had laughed. His face did that meltin’ thing I’ve heard Zarade describe as “completely adorable.” I asked if he’d never heard Ike laugh.

“Don’t think Ike has a funny bone.”

Funny bone. Never had heard that one before. Humans are odd. “Well, he doesn’t laugh much. Ogre bulls in general don’t entertain humor to a high degree.”

“Uh huh. So why aren’t you worried about wolves or bears, if there’re so many out here.?”

Really? I hung my head toward my shoulder for a second, to see if he’d figger it out. Waited a bit. Maybe he wasn’t gonna figger it out. So I stood erect and asked him, “Ya think a little ole grizzly would want a piece of me?”

His eyes flashed a bit more wide open for a half-second. Stink. Humans are able to move their faces around into so many different—expressions.

“So. You aren’t afraid of bears?” he asked.

I snorted. Should I explain that? He didn’t get my chortle. I sighed. Maybe that was condescendin’, but so be it. “No bear wants to be wrapped around a tree.”

“Really?” he asked.

I maybe wiped my hand down my face. “I’m no troll, but a bear would have to be awfully hungry, or drunk on fall apples, to give an ogre a piece of his mind.” Not like thousands of other tourists don’t wander all over these mountains.

“Oh,” he said.

“We gonna hike?” I asked. “About two miles from here this trail levels off onto a terrace with a killer view of the Lake.”

~

Chapter 6
~

“I saw Ezra drivin’ up the South Lake Slope with a strange human,” the cousin gushed on my phone. “What’s she doin’ with a human, alone like?”

It was the fourth such call I’d answered in ten minutes. I’d figgered out an answer the first time around, so I didn’t have to stutter like an idjit. “She’s out to hike with a friend of mine from college.” Telegram, tell-a-cousin. Within ten minutes the whole Range knew Ezra was out cavortin’ with a strange human.

My cousin gave me a meanin’ful hmm. Then welcomed me home. “See ya at the pub Friday night?” he asked.

“Unless I see ya first,” I said. Or a constable catches me in the parking lot. Since I won’t be of legal age in the Range for a bit yet. He gave me a sociable growl and hung up.

“Another one?” Crita, our lead project manager—really my boss—asked me. The hen hides a grin well.

“It isn’t just my clan,” I grumbled. “No one in this Valley has any idea how to keep their snout in their own business.”

“The Valley, huh?” she mumbled under her breath. “That pretty much makes up yar entire clan.”

“Doesn’t either,” I growled.

“Does too.”

“Doesn’t.” My tone might have grown a bit edgier.

“Ya younglings behave,” Wekz, the system admin who sits at the desk next to me, mumbled.

I told him to mind the twenty monitors glarin’ at him. The troll chuckled, what trolls call a chuckle. Something that scares the snot out of humans.

“I’m surprised ya’re not headin’ out to find Ezra,” Crita said. Must be her turn to give me a rash of grief. Folks prolly draw straws.

“To protect her from a human?” I asked with a good snort. “Shouldn’t ya be supervisin’ a server install or something?”

The ogre hen grinned. Yeah. She coerced me into that foolish “from a human” remark. I asked her if she was done botherin’ me.

“Sorry. Just thought ya’d want a status on twenty-million dollars worth of new projects.”

“I pay ya to ensure they stay on time and on budget.” She was irritatin’ me on purpose, the twit.

“Ya’ve relied on Northern contractors on some of these projects. Ya expect them to be on time and budget?”

“Ya’re an ogre hen. If ya can’t keep em in line, what am I payin’ ya three times the goin’ rate for?”

“Maybe twice. Ya want me to mess em up?” Crita asked, just being outright ornery. “Besides, all my paychecks are signed by Kriz. Ya got something to do with runnin’ this business?”

She was bein’ downright mean, now—we do auto deposit. I glared at her. Like that would work. No one with any sense thinks they can intimidate an ogre hen. Troll or daemon bulls wouldn’t even try that. I’ll bet in the day, dragons thought twice about crossin’ an ogre hen.

“Yar gears are spinnin’,” Crita said. “Any chance of an answer to my question this quarter? Maybe even this week?”

Think this is called abuse, in a court of law. I told her I hate her. She turned around with a snicker. Walkin’ to her own desk she said over her shoulder, “All my project plans are up-to-date on the server. Ya wanna peruse em, knock yarself out.”

What a news flash. Why didn’t I think of that? Everyone in the company knows she runs this place. The technical side. No point in arguin’ with her. Kriz and I just play with all the technology. We love that. That’s our thing. Runnin’ a business, we haven’t really grown into, yet. We spend any extra time we have ensurin’ we hire the best people in the world so the company doesn’t go broke. Get sued too many times. Northerners love to sue.

Most of these folks sittin’ around me would work twenty hours a day, if I didn’t pay the cleanin’ folk to turn the building lights off at eight o’clock. I can’t help it that all our folk have home offices. Kriz talked me into payin’ three times the goin’ rate for folks years ago—when we were still in high school, pish, middle school—and we’ve never regretted the decision.

Kriz, who doesn’t posses a twinge of empathy, has done two amazin’ things for our success. That early resource decision, and mostly workin’ remotely so he doesn’t get killed by the amazin’ folks we’ve hired. He really wouldn’t have lasted long. When it comes to tact, I think he believes it has something to do with the point of a spear. If we ever hire a human, we’ll need to keep her far, far away from Kriz. Oh. Maybe we have one human on staff. Works with Uknol.

I guess Kriz is good for a third thing. He’s a stinkin’ technical genius. Don’t see how I left that off my mental list. His tech is a hundred years ahead of anything else in the industry.

~ Ezra ~

“Why are ya starin’ at me?” I asked the human.

He jerked, as though I poked him with a sharp stick. “Sorry. Sorry.” He ripped his view back to the Lake miles below us. “Just. Just. Haven’t ever been around a female giant before.”

“Ya missed out on a lot of class and beauty, huh?” I teased.

“Truly.” What a BSer. He looked back at me, though I didn’t meet his gaze. “I didn’t expect you to be so pleasing on the eyes.”

Are all humans so full of it? I know they think our tusks and strong features aren’t what songs are written about. No human songs.

“No. Really. You take a bit getting used to, but I think you’re beautiful.”

I rolled my eyes. Even ogre bulls don’t think I’m anything close to beautiful, in ogre terms. A school friend once hurtfully admitted my features are too soft. We were bitty younglings. She didn’t know any better. Don’t know why she thought she needed to explain that to me. As though I didn’t own a mirror, or never been in the middle of a mixed mob of other younglings.

“Why do you all wear your hair in dreadlocks?” he asked. “Seems, uh—” Oh. This was worth waitin’ for. “Uh. It’s a hard look.”

I laughed. Of course he jerked again. He needs to adjust to the vibration ogres and trolls create from our sternocleidomastoid—stink, that’s a mouthful—surprised the mile-long word even came to me. What we call our giggle box—when talkin’ with younglings.

He asked if that was a laugh. I turned his way and gave him the closest thing an ogre, with our tusks, can make to a human smile.

“A hard look, huh?” I challenged.

“Uh—”

I waited. This oughta be good.

“It’s just. Your hair would probably reach your waist, if, uh—”

“Prolly would,” I said.

“Long hair, on women, is a particularly—uh—appreciated—uh.”

“We aren’t women,” I might have said with a sharp edge of irritation.

“Just because we have a different word for our females, doesn’t mean there’s that much difference between you.”

That keyed me into a long, joyful laugh. Good thing we’re alone on the top of a mountain ridge. Most hens hearin’ that suggestion would get notably riled up. No ogre hen ever wants to get compared to a woman. Our folk consider em pretty worthless. Weak. And borin’, borin’, lookin’.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

No way to get into that topic without way more discussion than I was willin’ or interested to put forth.

“Look,” I finally started after I gathered my composure. “We’re new to ya. Ya don’t get us. And I frankly don’t wanta get into the prejudice between our folks.”

I’m not well versed in human expressions, but if I had to guess, he looked a little—hurt. Or at least insulted.

“Be rude,” he said slowly. “But I’m attracted to you.”

Oh. Papa warned me about players like this one. But I’m sure Papa was more concerned about discouragin’ me away from gold-diggin’ ogre bulls. To become part of the Birs clan, I guess Papa thought an outside bull might lower his standards—to cozy up to me. He would laugh up a lung to see a human tryin’ to soften me up. Though, not very deep down, maybe settin’ aside my best judgment, the possibility someone thought I wasn’t as homely as I know I am, felt good.

There’s a reason I’m described as sweet. No one has ever called me beautiful. Prolly not even Mama. Oh. That was a sad thought.

“You’re just going to ignore that?” he asked.

I chose not to look back at him. Why should I? We sat in one of the best places on Earth to enjoy the Lake. No time to be banterin’ with nonsense.

“What do ya want from me, human?” I asked.

“Human? I’m just, a human? I just—”

“No stinkin’ reason for me to believe ya as far as I can throw ya, which is a considerable distance, considerin’ how skinny and slight ya are. Ogres have been disrespected by humans longer than there’s written word. That ya’re sittin’ here complimentin’ me is rich. Especially in its abruptness.”

“Not fair,” he gushed. “I was struck by you, literally at first sight. You didn’t get the sense last night. That I—I—”

Good. He finally shut up. Do human girls fall for this gibberish? Prolly. They’re not known for havin’ much in the attic.

~