Snaga

         'Ah seen tha' way their eyes glint when ah'm spattin' about tha' old times. Queer-ways, like they don' wanna admit to nothin'. Like, maybe, ah go' confused some point back when an' really don' remember jus' 'ow things were before Blackrend an' his boys. Bu' ah do. Ah remember plenty, see, an' it's easy. Mostly 'cause ah ain't gutted or nothin' an' still got mah hide on righ' ways.
         'Ah was from tha' firs' moment ah coul' remember up in tha' hills, east of tha' great plains. Tha' stink from tha' west was a tark smell, an' ah seen tha' fires smolder there, down where tha' yellah face burrows. Smelled tha' smoke, too, of tha' tark towns burnin'. Ah ain't tha' old. Tha' boss, he seen more. Spat tha' he seen tha' long ears runnin' scared an' knew tha' black city when it was still all white an' shiny. Think he was some sorta old warlord, him, tha' pushdug-shat, if yah listen too long to 'ow he done. Still, ah kept mah eyes down on tha' ground, spattin' with him, an' watched tha' bugs crawl by. Tha' 'ow it works, bein' a snaga. Snaga. Spat ah gotta weedy look to mahself, an' too fuckin' runty to manage much more than a mouthful. Don' listen to 'at. Ah ain't like 'at. Boss ain't like 'at, neither, nor nobody was back in tha' old days, see. We was all chummy, so far as 'at goes, an' had lots of meat an' maggots.
         'So one day, tha' yellah face startin' to slide down like a runny egg or somethin', ah seen this band runnin' tha' hills from east to west. Ain't usual; don' march normally at this sorta hour. Ain't much protection from tha' yellah face out here. So ah scout back to ole Boss Loshag 'bout it an' he start cursin' an' swearin' an' snarlin' all sorta things, roundin' up tha' boys for a fight, as he figures it, with these new blokes runnin' on our turf. He don' wanna, though, ah can tell: tha' way he gnashes his teeth ain't any sorta bloodlust, jus' bad habit. An' he turns to mahself an' spats, all serious-like as he do when tha' snaga go out raidin': "Trrowt," he spats, gettin' mah name all wrong like he do, "ah seen these boys 'fore, out east, far east, where tha' smart orc don' stay. Fightin' stump-legged tarks, ah though', but they wasn't no tarks. Dwarves." An' he spat, for real-like, an' tha' warm snot ran down mah temple. Ah didn't do nothin'. Ah ain't a dumb fuck. "Dwarves," he spat, like ah tellin', "...an' these snaga, they crazy like tarks with no legs crazy. They love fightin', any fightin', like they was bred by tha' master 'imself, like those Urrruks, bu' small an' rabid. Don' even got tha' sense to run from a fight, an' when they gotta, they march in tha' sun." Ah heard all this sorta rumor an' shat before, though, plenty of times when Boss got excited.
         'He said this all like we was chummy mates, so ah nodded real serious an' kept starin' hard at tha' bugs crawlin' over mah dark, gritty toes, hopin' he shut his mug an' roused tha' rest of tha' boys. He didn't though. Must'a got tha' sly look, thinkin' he suddenly some sorta tark or somethin', cause ah heard his voice change. "Trrowt," he spattin' again, soundin' cruel, "ah want yah to go an' scout these dodgy fucks, yah understand?"
         'Sha.
         'Ah told him ah understood, yeah boss, an' loped off all grabbin' mah gear an' things to go scout round, see 'ow tha' band ran. They wasn't but a few miles off, easy runnin' since tha' yellah face was goin' down, an' ah was runnin' light. Took mah spear an' mah bow, nothin' else, an' left even mah mail back in tha' tents. Ain't nobody gonna nick it when ah'm under tha' boss's eyes, he spat. Ah believed 'im. Ain't like ah had a choice. So ah got to runnin' an' must of got turned around or somethin' 'cause - sure as a sniffer got holes in their face - ah must of ran for hours 'fore ah got anywhere near tha' warband. They was campin' in tha' dusk, all laid out on tha' ground an' pantin' an' lookin' ragged, some of them howlin' an' bawlin' an' some others jus' too dead to do much complainin', with this mean lookin' orc stompin' through their midst, snarlin' an' bangin' his shield boss against their dinged ole pot-helms.
         '"Up, up, yah worthless maggots!" He was spattin', top of his lungs spat tha' even ah heard clear as hot blood from across tha' valley, "Ah tellin' yah shats we ain't done marchin' until we're in tha' tark-fucked stone city scrapin' with tha' tark-fuckin' boys on them walls!" He spat some more, too, but tha' wind carried it away an' so ah crept some closer, edgin' up real sneaky like onto their tents an' fires an' tha' sort of thing, silent as dead cats. Bunch of those boys of his, 'cause ah assumed he was tha' boss on account of his voice bein' tha' loudest, tried to get up an' stumble back off, but tha' rest jus' lay there, snappin' an' snarlin' when he beat their helmets in, shovin' at him an' huggin' their thick hide shields, 'bout as tall as ah am an' half as wide, to their guts. "Yah miserable sods," ah heard 'im snarl, beatin' in some unlucky snaga's trap, then watched him slouch down next to some other orc.
         '"Skai," he spat, floppin' back jus' like tha'. Ah must of giggled or somethin', thinkin' of all their loot we was gonna take when Loshag an' tha' boys got geared, because tha' head orc sat up quick as some sorta snake an' leered 'bout. He spat somethin' to some ginger-haired snaga beside 'im an' tha' latter pushed up, long arms an' all hangin' to about his knees, an' started lopin' off in mah direction. Boss didn't, though. Jus' slouched back, easy as yah please, an' tha' rest of his boys didn't seem too bothered neither.
         'Meanwhile, ah'd shat mahself. It ain't tha' ah'm a cowardly snaga - ah am - but tha' ginger-haired orc tha' was comin' mah way had all sorta bones an' scraps tied into his hair an' ah didn't feel like facin' no big warrior, even if he was 'bout mah size, withou' mah gear. So ah done wha' any good scout would of. Ah turned an' ran, screamin', while tha' ginger-haired orc with tha' bones an' scrappy flesh bits all tied up in his hair came lopin' after mahself like some sorta hillcat. Good thing they was tired, though, tha' lot. Tha' sod quit followin' mahself when ah turned off towards tha' hills where Loshag an' tha' boys were, 'cause ah seen him turn back to tha' camp when ah looked over mah shoulder. Good thing, too, 'cause ah tripped an' bashed mah bloody nose in onna rock doin' tha'. Was fuckin' pushdug shat, an' ain't no use for a sniffer with a busted snout, like they spat sometimes 'round tha' firepit.
         'Ah figger it's enough to spat tha' Loshag was pissed real mighty like an' kept gnashin' his teeth again an' started beatin' tha' butt of his spear into mah poor, bloody snout when ah told 'im they seen mahself runnin' back this way. Boss quit though, when ah told him how tired they was an' ran tha' leather off their boots, an' how they ain't even been runnin' in full gear or nothin'. In fact, Boss got tha' sly look again - this time ah seen it for mahself - an' nodded, spattin': "Trrowt, yah a snaga shat an' ah hate yah filthy guts. Get outta mah sight." ...An' tha' how ah knew ah wasn't dead, 'cause when Boss is pissed he ain't let yah leave. He spits yah righ' there, or threatens yah with gettin' chewed up an' shat ou' in some river or stream or somethin'. It ain't never usually jus' "Get outta mah sight." So ah felt honoured an' scrammed like ah was told to. Ain't asked to go on tha' raid but tha' suited mahself jus' fine, on account of mah snout bein' smashed in an' mah gear gettin' nicked soon as ah left tha' camp to scout.
         'Skai. Sometimes ah wish ah didn't jus' tuck into tha' camp an' doze off, though. See, ah come to later an' find mahself all surrounded by tha' same leerin' orcs ah jus' left tha' boys to go raid, an' tha' head of Boss Loshag was danglin' like some sorta fat, bloated bird tha' had its wings torn off an' had no beak, or legs, or feathers or nothin' - was danglin' jus' like a bird righ' over mah skully, drippin' blackblood down onto mah busted snout from tha' jaggedy bits where his neck tried holdin' on to tha' rest of 'im.
         '"Oh, sha, ah'm dead, ain't ah?" Ah asked, ain't really thinkin' much 'cause ah was too scared to. Ah coul' taste Boss on mah tongue when ah licked mah lips - bad 'abit - an' tha' made mahself angry 'cause if it weren't for 'im an' his boys, ah still have mah gear an' maybe ain't get pig-stuck like some sorta weak tark. So ah spat an' lurched up, grabbin' mah spear an' swingin' like ah was some sorta fightin' Uruk, like ah seen marchin' across tha' plains sometimes in their stompin' sorta ways, chantin' an' singin' like they was all jolly good all tha' fuckin' time. But ah was still scared, yeah? So scared mah balls drew up an' hid in mah throat an' ah kept chokin' whenever ah tried to snarl or scream, an' kept makin' these funny lil'sounds, ah guess, 'cause tha' bunch of leerin' orcs around mahself all started laughin' an' slappin' each other on tha' back, an' tha' one holdin' Boss's head started movin' tha' jaw like he was talkin' - Boss, ah mean - an' growlin' somethin' so low ah couldn't really understand tha' spattin'.
         'Ah guess ah didn't hit none of 'em, 'cause ah remember passin' out when some orc thumped me with ole Boss Loshag's head, an' wakin' up afterwards ain't dead. Ah was still in mah tent bu' ain't nobody else was, 'cept this one orc with no nose. 'at made mahself cringe a little, thinkin' maybe 'at was gonna be wha' 'appened to mah own busted snout. Tha’ orc, though, he jus’ grin at mah poor quakin’ self an’ tap his nose, or wha’ used to be his nose, an’ barked out real clear, if a bit slow:
         “Ah’m Slaktar Gurhul. Yah mine.”
         'Ah didn't spat nothin' though ah was itchin' to tell 'im ah knew ah was his, bu' tha' sorta sounded like tha' type of pushdug shat 'at got mahself into this mess in tha' first place. So ah kept mah trap shut. Tight shut. Ah jus' nodded real furiously-like, thinkin' maybe if ah do tha' he migh' nah gut mahself or maybe nah cut off mah snout on account he lost his own buggery nose. Ah guess it worked.
         'He nodded real slow-like, like he was mockin' mah own head bob, an' stretched up off his hind quarters. He was taller 'en ah figgered 'im for, an' had all sorta things hangin' from his shoulders: bags, a shovel, water bladder, tiny, wrinkly tark heads. All sorta things.