"Kids, I could use some help in the kitchen!"
sound of many running feet
"FO' DIN-DIN!!!" -- Escla
Warrior cultures aren't warriors all the time. Many people think so, and presume that everything is a fight. They presume that the entire tribe lives by the sword, on a horse, and nothing else ever happens without bloodshed. No culture is a monolith and no one group of people ever do the same thing.
The Orcish steppes are chilly, that much is true. The vegetation is as tough as the Orcs who farm them, and it is no surprise that they find livestock so much easier to manage. When one devotes a lifestyle to herds, it's natural to have a household that one can also easily pack. Put simply - they live in a yurt, walk around on the dirt, and have a loud way to flirt.
The Urgugs have set up with the rest of the Yagaur tribe in the Summer Grasslands. Their yurt is on stone, which would be unwelcome ground in any time other than summer. The cookfires are communal and meal creation is how families bond. Witness, now, Nash Urgug teaching hir littlest children the way of all things Orcish. "Assist me! I need battlers!"
The children, still less than half the height of their parent, scramble eagerly to where the fires of Yagaur are lit. "Fo' dindin," they shriek, and at least one has a toy weapon.
Of course they could hurt themselves with such things. That is how they learn not to.
In order of size and strength, Nash selects hir team and their duties. "Orbha, you must grow your muscles. Bring me the heaviest wood you can find for the fire. Zaruf, you must sharpen your tusks. Use them wisely and well on our Ironbark Yams[1]. Shao, you stand tall on this stool and learn how to feed your family. I will be your guide."
"HRUG'ZAHK!" The children saluted, the one with the toy battleaxe placed it by the door of the yurt before racing off on her task. The smallest child, now able to see into the cauldron, studied the goings-on with a mixture of fascination and serious intent.
Shao was within easy reach of the ingredients, but not necessarily speech. "Dass waddah," they squeaked.
"Yes. That is water. Fresh, clean, sweet water; so we know the food will be good. Do you see the salt? It's in the box on our tray."
Shao pointed it out with a victorious grunt.
"How big a handful of can you put into our pot?"
Shao had little baby hands, perhaps half of an adult's handful. Nash helped them count it all in. "Meat?" they asked.
"That's right! Meat for strength. All of it into the pot. Take your time, and try not to splash. This is not a bath."
"Don' wanna baff," grumbled Shao.
Zaruf, having successfully pulled the skin off of one yam, held it up. "I chop it now, right? With the Dwarfsteel blade?"
"Yes, that's exactly right. We want it fresh-cut into the pot." Nash did not need to tell hir child to be careful with such a sharp blade. Orc children either learned, or bled. Their hurts would be healed, of course, and any upset settled, but they learned.
Orbha returned, dragging a heavy log behind her, and immediately got the real axe to render it to pieces. Other Yagaur were working on other things. Camp bread, for example, in the heavy ovens that stayed where they were built. Some were cooking Dubo[2] for the herders' meals tomorrow.
Other children were learning at their parents' elbows. Some were learning at other tribespeople's elbows.
Despite their impatience with other intelligent creatures, Orcs have an almost endless patience for children who are willing to learn. The tutoring may be as rough and tough as the Orcs themselves, but the lessons reach home all the same.
[1] Pretty much exactly what it says on the tin. Orcs evolved those tusks for reasons.
[2] The orcish answer to pie or pastie, where food is wrapped in bread and therefore ready to eat with one hand.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / otaraev74]
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