Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 52
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I checked my phone. Maybe they rolled Thomas out of surgery without lettin’ us know. No. They woulda come to let Thomas’ mama and papa know. They’d been sittin’ next to me a couple hours now, so I would know if.

I had sent the company plane to bring em back—they had gone home when we hadn’t found head or tail of their—they use the word son. I could get used to that word. Youngling sounds more ogrish, but son is a clean, precise word. I think a lota trolls adopted it a long time ago. Maybe we ogres are slow to change. Daughter. Don’t think that can ever catch on. Doesn’t loll on the tongue right. I like youngling hen.

So, if my count is right. Thomas had been in surgery nine hours. How long can they keep humans under? They’re pretty fragile. I know we ogres and trolls can’t lay back that long. Too much weight on the heart and stuff.

One summer on the ranch, one of Grandpapa’s favorite stallions with bloat, which had been on the stall floor for a couple hours—heart just stopped on him.

To my six-year-old brain, the vet explained. What I know to be the truth about us barrel-chested ogres. We can be rolled over on our side, back and forth, in a crunch. Less a thing with horses, the massive creatures we use on the Ranch. Just too much weight layin’ atop their organs.

Odd thing to be thinkin’ about. Need a new thread to involve my brain, keep me from fallin’ out of this chair. That’d be embarrassin’. Hunger. Good topic for any ogre. Except it was eatin’ me from the inside. Shouldn’ta be thinkin’ about that either. Nor all the work I have to do. I looked across at David. He was no longer holdin’ Thomas’ mama’s hand. Guess he’d gotten past the required sympathizin’. Em humans are emotional folk.

David, I know for a fact, isn’t even that big a fan of Thomas, if the truth was whispered. Two ball hogs, I guess, hard to create a good peace between em. If one ever set a pick for the other, I never saw it.

A respect-kinda thing, I think, is goin’ on. And forced camaraderie. The two humans got used to each other on the basketball court. Then more recently, workin’ together on more challengin’ tasks for Ogre Ware, drew em together in purpose. Didn’t have a lot of other humans in the company to chat with. Not that Range ogres shun humans, or even treat em—like lesser beings. But all folk stay in their niches, I guess.

Ezra leaned against me, head close. “What are ya thinkin’?” she whispered.

Why would she ask me that? ’Cause my eyes had been wanderin’? Almost told her, none of yar business. Which made me smile. Evil twisted brain—what would she want me to say? That question was so wrong, too. Mama taught me sincerity matters over all things. Think that was an excuse for her to be brutally honest about my tiny shortcomings. What she saw as my shortcomings. I was just different than her other younglings. A lot more independent. She used the adjective stubborn. That would just make me a proper ogre.

“Ya and Kriz are prolly starvin’. Why doncha take him to the cafeteria for a bite.”

My stomach growled over my answer. “And ya aren’t starvin’?”

“Ya can bring me back a tall coffee,” she said.

~ Ezra ~

My mind had been flippin’ across topics so fast it was a wonder I could sit in this stinkin’ uncomfortable couch-thing without fallin’ over. That would be embarrassin’. Should I be struck by the gods for havin’ thoughts about anything but Thomas gettin’ well? After all, he’s in surgery, fightin’ for his life. Mind keeps comin’ back to Thomas’ mama lookin’ at me, knowin’ I’m the one who brought all this on her—she uses the word son a lot. It’s a good word. We don’t have a similar single word in Ogrish, really.

Wish I hadn’t been in ear shot when the surgeon told the parents what Thomas was dealin’ with. Besides bein’ left to die from his injuries for two stinkin’ weeks. The Chief had told Ike that he had dragged his crushed body thirty feet to a nearby creek to get water. For a human, that had to have been quite the task. Just survivin’ the chill Range nights, for him, had to be tough. Brutal wicked. Humans don’t have a lot of meat on em.

Infection was his biggest hurdle, she said. More broken bones than they could count. Been beat on for a while. Crushed knee caps and hips. Ribs. Arms. Collar bones. Face—oh. So much anger. Hatred. Didn’t know ogres are capable of such a thing.

They’ll get their just rewards. I’ll beat em to death with their own legs.

Uncle Bliar had already released a Verdict Absentia. Anyone involved in the human’s ordeal faced death by hangin’. That was—well—a freaky judgment. Up to today, best anyone knew, could remember, worst any ogre had ever faced was exile.

But then, back in the day, exile, without family, clan resources, almost ensured death—maybe—a long drawn out one. But this crime far exceeded anything I’d ever heard of in the ogre world.

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