“As everyone always said, hindsight makes many things become all too obvious.” - Old folk saying.

“I really feel sorry for those who already departed ahead of time now,” said Andromarche between mouthfuls of succulent meats, baked until it was so soft, merely the act of lifting them up caused them to fall right off the bones. It had not taken more than one bite to convince the former knight that the tribals before her knew what they were doing with their food indeed.

While the mainstay staple food for the nomadic orcs generally took the shape of a dough-like mixture made from a mix of flours - gathered up from a variety of wild grains, nuts, and seeds that had been dried and ground to a powder - mixed with the strong, salted, buttered tea-like beverage commonly drunk by them, the Greentusks were not a nomadic Clan, and as such, they cultivated the land of their territory and had great fields where they grew their grains and other edible plants.

Instead, the Greentusk staple was a sort of flatbread made from mixed flour - they grew more than one variety of grain - kneaded with water and salt before it was baked in the sides of humongous clay urns - each easily large enough to swallow an adult orc whole - that served the role of ovens. Such things were naturally inconvenient for the more nomadic clans to carry about in their journeys, as such it was only really seen in use by the Greentusks.

Similarly, there were a greater amount and variety of vegetables and fruits on the tables, both fresh and preserved, compared to what was commonly seen in orcish feasts. As the host of the traditional gatherings, the Greentusks brought out their best for the feasts, to ensure that everyone who came would leave with nothing less than a full and satisfied belly.

The feast was one that lasted through the night, well past the midnight hour into the early hours of the morning, and only really finished when the sun rose on a large gathering of stuffed, drunk, and slumbering members of the clans the next morning. Even so, despite the merriment and excessive intake of alcohol the night before - the Greentusks broke out many barrels of the good stuff they saved up for such occasions - most of the orcs were already up and about and set to work as they packed up with their respective clans and prepared to continue on their journey through the plains.

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Andromarche was not as fortunate, as she lacked the endurance that an orc’s natural constitution had.

She woke up late in the afternoon with a pounding, dizzying headache, one that prevented her from even leaving her bed until an hour or so later. As she left the tent, she found much fewer tents around compared to the day before. Some Clans had already left, while others, like the Bloodfangs, were still in the midst of packing up.

“Awake, I see,” said Aideen as she noticed Andromarche’s presence moments later. Aideen and Celia were in the midst of helping a couple orcs packing up their tents, where they were neatly folded or rolled up, then tied securely with ropes to the back of their pack animals for transport. Of course, not all the tents were packed up that way, mostly the ones that were designed for longer term use and only unpacked when the Clan reached one of their usual hunting grounds. “How are you feeling?”

“Like my brain’s trying to break out from inside my skull,” replied the former knight, to Aideen and Celia’s chuckles. Andromarche saw Aideen move closer, touch her for a brief moment, and felt a surge of magic that even she, despite her relative lack of talent and sensitivity to mana, noticed passing through her. Then the next thing she knew the throbbing headache vanished as if it was never there.

“That should take care of the hangover,” said Aideen. The small feat of healing - Andromarche knew a couple healers employed by the Count that could do what looked like miracle in the eyes of others, but when the count had bad hangovers it took them a few minutes to handle, whereas Aideen took merely the briefest of instants to do it - was one that made her look at the woman before her with a surprised realization.

“Anyway, you made up your mind yet on what you wanna do?” asked Aideen all too nonchalantly, as if she had done nothing worthy of note whatsoever just then.

“I think I will take up the offer to live with the Clans,” said Andromarche after she took a moment to collect her thoughts. She had given the matter a lot of thought over the past week. Her options pretty much amounted to living somewhere in exile, wherever it may be, so as not to implicate her family back home. Returning to the Empire unnecessarily risked someone recognizing her, and besides, she was not certain she would even make it out of the prairie on her own.

As such, while the idea bothered her at first, the offer explained as being “adopted” by a clan as one of their own out of respect was one she settled for. Aideen seemed to smile at her words, and soon after they finished packing up the tents they were dealing with, she took Andromarche away, as they walked towards where a few orcs were standing and talking with one another as they observed the rest of the Clan busy at work.

Aideen then introduced Andromarche to Orica, who greeted her with obvious enthusiasm in her voice - even though Andromarche still had little understanding of the orcish tongue the enthusiasm easily bled through the language barrier - and welcomed her with a hefty pat on the shoulder that left it sore for a while afterwards.

Then Aideen brought her over to help with the work everyone was busy with. The way the orcs saw it, if she was going to be one of them, then she better work like them as well.