Thank you! I had a lot of fun with some of the subtle world building.

It was silent in the autumn breeze with only the wind blowing golden leaves across the empty park. Not even the crows who often belted their croaking melancholia from the oak shifted. They puffed up their feathers like black coats and pulled them tight as they sat in their nests. Winter's chill sat in potential on the weathered clouds, darkening a pale yellow fluff to dark grey with a promise of frigid rains. It never snowed here, but the chill of winter bit deeper every year. Well, it wasn't quite correct to day it never snowed, for almost every year since that fateful day, if snowed. Technically.

No children played in the park, as the stones that crunched beneath their feet had been long since bleached too white in unabating sun, and no more green sprouted to break their fall. I could remember their laughter, though. Even after all these years, I don't think I'll ever forget the sound of a child's laughter.

"You think the weather tomorrow will be good?" He asked beside me in a creaking voice.

I began to tell him. I told him how the double headed crows told me of now coming soon. The hogs in my garden got bolder. The bats and all four little wings fluttered in my attic, seeking warmth. I told him about every struggle and strife I knew.

"You think the weather tomorrow will be good?" He asked, for that was all I knew how to make the creaking skeleton say, and I never was creative enough to come up with something. He'd said that to me the day the bombs dropped. Im bad at making things up... but I know how to remember.

I don't think I can forget.

A lot of my coworkers assume that I would be worse at my job than my human counterparts. Apparently, a Blacktusk can't do this sort of 'advanced thinking.' No, even after the end of the Orcish-Loraenian war in '89, I still feel their eyes on me like venom in my veins. I still hear their whispered words in hushed elvish, assuming I don't know their tongue. I still notice them speak in softer, simpler words as if soothing a great, toothed beast in fear it would lash out and not understand.

No one has complained though. Not even I.

"Evanduiael, how was your weekend?" Rasper Gildsprocket glanced over their shoulder at the elf, who twitched his ear dismissively at the gnome. Their high voice had a tendency to grate on those of us with more sensitive hearing. My own ears pinned back a moment before I reminded myself of 'polite society'. The Loraenian immigration society has taught me plenty about polite ears when I moved here, but sometimes instinct still got the better. Sometimes if was easier to give in to that comfort of being able to show my emotions openly.

"Im fine, Gildsprocket." Evanduiael spoke curtly, striding confidently into his office without sparing either of us a look. I snorted, grinding my teeth against my tusks.

"Rude." I growled, focusing on filling up my work water bottle fully at the cooler. Rasper sputtered a bit, looking up at me.

"We-well, you know how elves are." They let out a humorless laugh, glancing around as if wondering if anyone else was coming to keep them company. Were they scared of me? "And I mean, they're quirky, but coming to Loraen gives a lot of us so much opportunity. We should be grateful. Especially orcs like you."

I hated it when they said things like that. Made it seem like I survived off their charity. It wasn't charity.

"Know what I mean, Gog?"

"Goog." I corrected with a close lipped smile.

"Such a silly name." They chuckled, turning to leave. "You should go by something else now that you're in Loraen."

I snorted through my nose. I did my work. And I did it well. And I never complained about my coworkers either. Because even HR laughed when they read my name.