My Orc Husband Dotes on Me Excessively

Chapter 2: Start a Fire & Fend for Ourselves

Before the cub could react, his sister had already tugged him toward the stream. Even though this spot seemed fairly safe, An Luo didn’t dare wander anywhere else—who knew what dangers waited if they strayed too far? She headed for the stream hoping to get lucky and spot some fish. The stream was not far from where they’d tumbled down. It took them less than five minutes to arrive at the water’s edge. The water gurgled along, crystal clear all the way to the riverbed. It stretched five to six meters wide, winding endlessly into the distance. An Luo craned her neck and peered for ages, yet she could not see where the stream began or ended. Their one stroke of luck was the many fish swimming about. Even the smallest ones were as long as her arm, weighing roughly five or six pounds apiece. An Luo glanced around joyfully, found a sturdy stick, rolled up her sleeves and the hem of her skirt, then waded into the water. Back in the Tiger Tribe, the original girl had been doted on endlessly. She’d owned three linen dresses, each costing thirty beast pelts to trade for. But once she was driven to the juvenile caves, she only had this single linen dress to wear. She’d gone nearly a month without washing it, and now it was dark, grimy, reeking of stench, its original color long unrecognizable. Fish were known as spiky beasts across the Beast God Continent. Spiky beasts bore many sharp bones with little meat, and their flesh reeked of fishy odor. Even among meat-eaters, they were one of the most despised foods. Only during the cold season, when game was scarce and starvation loomed, would orcs hack through ice to catch them to fill their bellies. No one spared them a glance on ordinary days. Perhaps for this very reason, the spiky beasts in the stream were utterly lacking in wariness. Even as An Luo approached with her stick raised, they foolishly darted toward her feet, as if playing with her. “Stupid fish,” An Luo muttered, aiming at one and stabbing hard. A direct hit! She lifted the stick, a thrashing spiky beast skewered on its tip. Beast blood trickled down the wood into the stream, scaring away the school of fish circling her legs. The fish she’d caught weighed around seven or eight pounds, far plumper than she’d expected. Seeing her catch, the cub clapped his hands and hopped in delight—only to jolt his back wound. He winced sharply and froze, yet unbridled joy still shone in his eyes. To the starving cub, no matter how rank and smelly spiky beasts were, they were still meat, a rare delicacy he rarely got to taste. As soon as An Luo hauled the fish onto the bank, the cub scurried over. An Luo nearly jumped in fright. The water was shallow, yet it still reached the cub’s waist. She hastily herded him back onto dry land. “Shoo, shoo! Little cubs can’t get close to the stream!” The cub looked the size of a four or five-year-old, but he had only just turned three. Orcs across the Beast God Continent were naturally tall, likely a trait of their bloodline. Though he did not understand why his sister forbade him from the water, he obediently scrambled back onto the bank. Once ashore, An Luo grabbed a thin stone, scaled the spiky beast, gutted it, and removed its gills and fishy veins. Her movements were smooth and fluid, done in one seamless sequence. The cub stared on, dumbfounded. Was this really his sister? The original girl had run far through the mountains and was already ravenous. Paying no mind to the cub’s confused gaze—he was just a small child, easy to pacify—An Luo only cared about filling their stomachs quickly. After cleaning the fish thoroughly, An Luo hit a new snag. No fire. From the original girl’s memories, only the royal court within the Beast King’s Court housed sacred flame. To obtain sacred flame, one had to trade food and pelts; otherwise, they could only eat raw meat. Staring at the cleaned fish, An Luo sighed repeatedly. The original girl had eaten raw meat countless times, but as a modern person from the century, she simply could not bring herself to take a bite. After a moment’s thought, she settled on the most primitive method: starting a fire by friction of two sticks. Energetically, she hunted around for two wooden sticks fit for drilling, plucked a handful of dry yellow thatch grass, and gathered any dry firewood she came across. After rushing about busily, she returned to the stream bank clutching an armful of firewood and thatch. Meanwhile, the cub sat guard beside the cleaned fish, staring unblinkingly at it. Long strings of saliva dripped down his chin to the ground, yet he restrained himself from touching it even once. An Luo’s warm feeling lasted barely two seconds before her sharp eyes caught a long, fresh gash on the cub’s filthy back, oozing bright red blood. Her footsteps faltered, then she quickened her pace. The closer she drew, the clearer the wound became—a long cut roughly seven to eight centimeters long, a flash of white faintly visible beneath the flesh. An Luo could not tell if it was bone. The sight made her gasp. She chided herself for being so careless. Her heart ached for the cub’s quiet obedience; he’d endured such a severe injury without making a single sound. He flinched at her sudden cold touch, his small body trembling, yet he forced a soothing tone. “Don’t worry, Sis. Cub doesn’t hurt.” His words only deepened An Luo’s guilt. She pulled him into a gentle hug. “Wait here for me. Sis will be right back.” With that, she left the cub and ran back to where she’d gathered firewood. While collecting wood earlier, she had spotted a patch of a common wild weed—thorn grass, known to stop bleeding and reduce inflammation, a natural bandage. Back at the orphanage, the children often scraped and hurt themselves, so the matron had taught her to identify many medicinal herbs, thorn grass among them. An Luo bent down and searched carefully for a long time, finally spotting a small patch of thorn grass where she’d plucked the thatch. Overjoyed, she dug up several clumps with a stone, clearing the whole patch before hurrying back. She wasted no time once she reached the cub’s side. She rinsed the thorn grass clean, crushed it with a stone, then tore a strip from her linen dress as the cub watched in alarm. She gently wiped the cub’s back clean, spread the crushed thorn grass over the wound, and wrapped the strip of linen tight before letting out a relieved breath. Throughout the whole process, the cub said not a word, his red eyes fixed on his sister’s shortened dress. This linen dress had been her favorite! She’d guarded it jealously, scolding him for half the night if he so much as touched it—and now she’d torn it apart for him. A heavy sadness weighed on the cub’s heart, yet he knew not how to put it into words. He lowered his head glumly. An Luo clapped the dust off her hands and stood. “All done, cub. If anything still hurts, you have to tell Sis, understand?” The cub nodded blankly. Receiving his reply, An Luo threw herself back into the task of starting a fire. She had no intention of going hungry that night. Moreover, fire would keep them safer from mountain beasts after dark. Without a knife, An Luo sharpened one stick with the stone she’d used to scale the fish, then struggled laboriously to carve a small hollow into the second stick. She piled the thatch beside the two pieces of wood, rested the sharpened stick in the hollow, and began twisting it back and forth rapidly. She spun faster and faster, losing count of how many rotations she’d made. Her arms ached, her wrists burned—every muscle screamed in protest. If thin wispy black smoke hadn’t kept curling up from the thatch, she would have thrown the sticks down in defeat. Her strange movements soon drew the remorseful cub’s attention. Little children had short memories. He quickly forgot his sadness and trotted over eagerly. “Sis, what are you doing?” “Sis is making fire.” “Sacred Flame?” The cub gasped, eyes sparkling. Seeing thin beads of sweat on her forehead, he spoke softly with concern. “Sis, let cub help.” An Luo shook her head. He was far too small, and his back wound could split open if he strained himself. She had no desire to add more trouble to their predicament. She twisted the stick for another half hour. Just as she was on the verge of giving up, a burst of scarlet flame flared up beneath the wood, igniting the thatch in the blink of an eye. An Luo carefully fed dry firewood into the blaze, only stopping once the logs caught fully. She dared not let the fire die, unwilling to waste two hours of hard work. Staring at the bright crackling fire, An Luo wiped the sweat from her forehead and smiled. “Finally, we can roast the fish!”

“Fish? What’s fish?” the cub asked in confusion.

As An Luo set up a wooden rack to roast their catch, she explained, “It’s what we call spiky beasts!”