The smell of the bunnies is what bothered Hrok, he knew that being one of the youngest in the company he would constantly have to prove himself. His jobs and tasks were menial at best and he was almost certain not a single one of them knew him by name. Whelp was all he was to them, and although young he could handle a bow or blade with with the best of his kin. He never held the same arrogance his fellow full blooded orcs seemed to carry. The "halfies" were some of the most amazing warriors and assassins he had grown to know. He never cared much for marching, it was a tedious event that certainly served its purpose. However the march gave Hrok much time to think, to watch. Occasionally he was sent to scout ahead and usually returned with a few fresh bunny scalps, and always horse meat should any of the bunnies have been riding. 

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When they arrived at the fort he awaited his commander to determine if he was scaling the wall and opening the gate or if he was to join the party making the the final frontal assault. Either way he couldn't wait to rack up the body count and maybe find a few new trophys for his collection.