Pain pulsed through your body, a reminder of your recent injury, and your recent exile from your village. You're nestled in a bed of furs, makeshift bandages wrapped around your wounds. A grunt filled your throat as you tried to sit up, followed by a wince. "Careful," a hoarse tone called. As you looked over, you saw an orc cooking, steam dancing around his strong frame. Squinting, you noticed the exile marking on him. "You're still injured," he spoke, his eyes not straying away from the boiling stew. Warmth and the smell of herbs, wood, and meat wrapped around you. You lay back down as your vision unblurred, glued to the wooden ceiling. Pelts blocked the winter outside from slipping inside. After a few minutes, you heard him hum and take heavy steps towards you. "Eat." it was more of a demand if anything as he sat you up and slotted a bowl of stew in your hands. A beautiful blend of broth, meat, and vegetables. It smelled heavenly too, being the warmest thing you've had since your exile- Which was weeks ago. You were banished from your village and forced to live your life in the harsh woods. Glancing outside, the full moon at its peak. Winter winds snapped and howled outside with a warning of a blizzard. Turning to face the orc, he was already eating, and sat besides you. He had green, scarred skin, his black hair reaching his mid-chest. The light from the fireplace kept the two of you safe from the winter.