"Prendere che, maladrina!" Roared the Seraphim, laughing and whooping "Stronzo lo meritava!" 
The green skins gave them funny looks, but they didn't care. One, they were still alive. Two, one of the Orks had been killed, blown apart by some sort of high-power explosive. And three, Attila had been killed, removing a persistent narcissistic drone from many an ear, Ork and Angel alike. Even if the beasts didn't't understand his whining, surely it got on their nerves? And the less annoyed they were, the less likely they were to do things that bode ill for the rest of the "chickens", like get a roasting spit ready.

But damn, if orcs and ogres made poor hosts! What part of "don't touch my wings" did they not get? They had said it often enough, even in the common-tongue, but yet they still poked and prodded and played with them. Every time one of the greenskins touched their wings, the poor creature winced and recoiled, sometimes flapping the wing to get them off. It wasn't necessarily painful, but it was ticklish and oddly stimulating. Often, when the beast was done, the Seraph in question would find an ally and look over it's wings with them, feeling violated and dirty.

Sometimes, if the ork had felt particularly cruel ( or playful ), he would lift a Seraph up and start playing with them, like a baby with a doll. The Ogre in particular was partial to this, flying them about like airships and rubbing his big, ugly, dirty hands all over the variety of wings. He must have been intrigued by the colours and shapes off them - there was black, white, mottled brown, turquoise, scarlet, even a yellow. The felt soft as well, more a downy feather than a proper bird feather. There must have been some feel-good factor involved with touching a Seraph's wings, whatever it was, because they did it so often, and with so much interest and cruel joy that they couldn't just be curiosity. Maybe they liked seeing smaller creatures recoiling from them. Yes, that suited the Ork personality very well.

After the mortars, and Attila's tragic(!) demise, a camp came into view. Some of the more eagle-eyed Seraphim could see other green skins already, greatly depressing them. How much longer would they have to put up with these beasts?

"Erm, excuse me?" One of Scions asked an Orc in the common-tongue. It was the only other female apart from Raelyn in the group, and she had bright red wings. She had probably one of her captors favourite playthings. "Is that the camp there? Because we could run on ahead, if it's not too much trouble..."