As the sun dove down and the stars shone through, glittering with a hint of red from the multitude of campfires springing up from the camp, they attempted to settle in. The wargs broke into smaller packs, sleeping in piles, restless in the night and wrestling with the pull of the moon. They were sensitive to the slight noises and soft chatter that hummed about the impatient camp. It was good. There was a point you had to reach with nerves; heightened and paranoid from lack of sleep and anticipation, but not fried. Some would fry themselves, the Orcs. She’d seen it in other battles, though the images barely nibbled at her dreams due to the commonality of all races to lose their edge in battle. But not the wargs. They drifted in and out, not requiring a steady block of sleep. There were times you would glimpse a warg, deep in sleep, and they would almost seem like a tender pet. Their legs kicked sporadically , half dreaming of the chase, but muscles still active due to subconscious awareness. A gentle whimper may rise up and add to the sweet image their sleep painted. Then one’s thick head would rise up, startled from their dream and snap heavily with unnatural jaws, shaking the already fragile notion of “sweet”. On occasion a warg howl from the not so distant would rouse a bit of the pack. Their ears would perk for a moment and then they would huff and reposition themselves. And this is how Mutt passed her night, Orc-lithe form barely visible curled amongst the wargs.

The sky still spoke the promise of darkness when she began to prepare for battle. Her back leaned heavy, though almost unnoticed, against a warg, Mazorn, that was still feigning sleep like a young recruit trying to get out of battle. She was purposefully ungraceful with her elbows as she prepared and Mazorn grunted his disapproval at the little thing, though they both seemed accustomed to the ritual. She swept deep black dreads from her back, tying them up with leather. Her hair pulled back exposed the shaved right side of her head, stained red with color of her company. The blood red stain laced across her stoic expression, branching into an intricate pattern of a warg’s jaw superimposing her own. Boots and gloves were pulled on and laced tightly with more leather before she stood. The warg opened one eye to watch her as she pulled open her pack and pulled on armor. The armor was snug and patched together with hide and appeared to have been stitched together with her form in mind, and it should, for it had been battered and repaired upon her very chest. Mazorn bristled and began to rise to his feet. He stretched the sleep from his muscles and seemed to prance, if a demon was ever seen to prance, for a moment as the blood began to flow. His huge muzzle hit at her back and she lurched forward before turning with a low growl that almost seemed to fade into a giggle. Now was not the time to play, though there was a giddy energy before battle amongst their pack. Both of Mutt’s fingerless gloved hands found the sides of his jaw and she pressed her face into his, rumbling something from her chest. The warg responded with a snort but lowered his shoulders just a tad and sauntered off to the others. She tossed a quiver of arrows, as well as a bow across her shoulders and then strapped katars to her thighs where she could easily equip them while on her mount.

There was no need for breakfast; that would come soon enough.

The camp was barely stirring when a low but stern call to Mazorn united the odd pair. She ran her fingers over the well maintained coat before her body was pitched upwards, lying almost flat against the huge beast. They were joined by Grul and Bulak, who were younger wargs, but not untried in battle. The four began a slow circling pattern towards the Achnal camp, staying downwind and merely observing. There seemed to be a communal grunt of disapproval from the group at the lackadaisical attitude that exuded from the Achnal’s humans. It would have been like any other twilight romp, save for the increasing eagerness pooling within them. When Koloch lead the others closer they met and fell in stride, fully awake and almost twitching. She was sitting up as she made eye contact with a few of the chosen, offering a nod in greeting.

When the call was given and Koloch’s mount took the wall, she followed them into the fray. As the other Orcs and wargs pushed forward she hung back; still sitting tall on Mazorn with bow and arrow ready. She watched as their path became defined with the deep red of fumbling humans, her once stoic expression cocked into a sly smile as she targeted the few humans flanking the prince and Koloch. As soon as the prince slipped from her sight she lowered her body flat against the warg, her mouth tucked close to Mazorn’s ear that fluttered back in attention. Mutt’s eyes were open and alert, darting and focusing quickly in the dying night, and becoming meer slits of focus as the day broke, red on the horizon. Without the noises of the surrounding battle you would be able to make out what sounded like a storm; thunder of a rumbling growl and then a yip striking both of them into action. The warg coiled and leapt to the nearest roof. The sharper than spear claws of Mazorn dug into the thinly thatched roof and the soft snapping sounds of the big bad wolf threatened the weak structure. They gave the roof no time to realize it’s inferiority and bounded forward upon the rooftops, keeping the prince ahead. Resistance was growing for the pressing Orc group as the humans attempted realization. As they dove over a makeshift walkway in the Achnal camp, 3 humans raised their heads. Mutt turned with the bow, exhaling like they taught her, rising just enough to be steady and fired an arrow straight into the unprotected throat of one of the men. Her aim was nothing exceptional, but her comfort on a warg exceeded her skill and the arrow found it’s home. His face would be forever frozen in dumb surprise, but at least he wouldn’t be shamed in old age.

The weak roofs of the prince’s people were beginning to give way to peaked tents of the infiltrating human horde. Mazorn, attempting to hold the high ground, leapt to a stone wall. They would have maintained this route, but their position was no longer a surprise and arrows and spears began to brave their path. They turned down, jumping into the already blood drenched path of the prince and Koloch. Mutt could hear her fellow warriors and their cries of bloodlust heightened her excitement. As soon as Mazorn and Mutt landed, her hands dug into the katars and gripped the fierce weapons in the same fluid movement as her dismount. The humans they had jumped into were now faced with a snarling Orc and her mount. They had no time to even think of screaming, but as her Katar ripped into the abdomen of the closest man the sharp and sour smell of urine reached her nose. The smile remained as blood freckled her green cheeks and she jumped back on Mazorn. He had made quick and thoughtless work of the other humans and seemed to mirror her giddy expression. Mutt’s eyes skipped across her view plane as she jumped back onto the warg, a little surprised by the lack of momentum this tryst has built for her. As they bounded forward for the prince a man rushed from their 3 O’clock, slamming his head into the blood coated nose of Mazorn’s snout. There was a still moment of shock as the man turned to look at the also stunned Mazorn. The human’s face contorted from fear to pale disbelief, visible for only a moment until the warg regained its composure and clamped his jaws down on the brittle neck. Just then Grul and Bulak came looping around the corner, looking a bit miffed as the man fell headless at the groups feet.

“Chuik chuik,” she clucked at them with a tone both ecstatic and ferocious. They broke apart, each following with the path of the prince but darting to his flank right and center, with Mazorn and Mutt rushing to the left. More loud clucking yips came from her as they darted between the tents, grabbing at the stragglers and the wounded with merciless jaws. They moved quickly, Mutt hoping to break in front of the Prince and Koloch to clear their way, but this left many humans limbless, gutless, groaning and bellowing as their bowels and pain tolerance released. The haste of their movements did not promise death. As the prince came into view she let out an unsettling howl, something more animalistic and disturbing than the orcs usually muster, but that was amplified by the wargs that joined in. Grul and Bulak neared the prince, protecting the awkward warg rider as best they could without denying themselves the pleasure of flesh.

Mutt and Mazorn pushed on, plunging towards the sentries. They leapt towards the group of four, which was aware and looking more prepared than most of the humans they stumbled upon. Mutt once again abandoned her mount, hands slipping into the Katars and snapping her wrists so that they flared out into 3 warg like claws. This was not their first hunt and like a pack they knew their targets. Mazorn reared, dodged the humans slashing sword and came down while he was in the back swing. His teeth ripped into the man’s fleshy shoulder with no more difficulty than a butcher knife through butter. The whole situation would have been laughable had their numbers not been so great. As Mazorn felled one, two of the other humans turned to face the snarling warg, praying for the strength of numbers. The fourth man was entertaining Mutt, pacing about in an attempt to put her between him and his comrades, but Mutt had little to no patience for this dance. She dove down in a blink, fingertips pressing into the ground, already crimson from the butter boy, and then launched upward into his underbelly with both hands forward. The man swung, finding his sword captured in the grips of the Katar and ironically easing the already unfair advantage. Mutt straddled the gasping man, his heavy breaths scattering blood across his own face. She got to a knee and stood, angle ripping the katars from his chest as she did. She spun on the two men that were moving succinctly towards Mazorn and her eyes, slitted in the sun, met his. The two men lunged at Mazorn. The warg went for the neck of the man on the right and Mutt drove her katars, knuckle deep, into the other man’s back. She had to shake out her wrists to get the man’s pulpy form to fall from the Katars, but Mazorn was cherishing this kill, thick dark tongue wrapping around a decapitated midsection. With the blood lapping at her feet with the same rhythm as Mazorn’s tongue she turned back to search for the others.