Choosing a life with the orcs was never easy but it wasn't hard either. I'd grown up with them. I'd spent more of my life with orcs than humans. In a sense it came naturally to me, but I struggled with who I was and where I belonged. I wondered if it was the right thing. In some ways it was like turning my back on my family. They'd been murdered by the race I now dearly loved.
I was a traitor to my own kind to some.
I was betrothed to my family.
Half of me and half of him. Half of two races that seemed unable to move past their hatred for each other. Even within my own marriage, we struggled with that one concept. Sometimes it seemed my husband couldn't see me as anything other than an orc. As though he'd forgotten his own children were half human. Sometimes it felt like I did, too, as though I had always been an orc at heart, but some human part of me always survived, rising to the surface to remind me that I was stuck at the heart of this war. One half human, one half orc.