General Shebakh sighed heavily, and then leaned against her desk. There were no chairs in the entire root cellar. In fact, the desk was the only piece of furniture, unless you counted the shelves for the root vegetables. Shebakh was the only flesh and blood mortal in the place and at the moment, she felt it more than ever.

Shebakh replied glumly, "It was bound to happen eventually. You can only keep an army of one hundred orcs a secret for so long." Shebakh inspected her desk. Nothing seemed out of place, nothing was missing, and nothing seemed suspicious. However, Shebakh had her suspicions. She asked Ashaka, "How much did they see?"

"All of it," Ashaka replied. With her battleaxe still at the ready, she asked, "Are we going to move up the next battle?"

General Shebakh sifted through her papers, frowned, and then responded, "Not every fallen orc warrior has a clay body yet. I don't want to deprive any of my soldiers of the chance at revenge."

"They know what we're doing now," Ashaka reminded Shebakh.

"We cut their forces in half today," General Shebakh replied defensively, and then calmly added, "It will take time for them to receive reinforcements."

"Then this is the time to attack!", Ashaka urged fearfully.

General Shebakh reassured her, "This is the time to prepare." She leaned heavily against her siege strategy table, and fought back tears. Her voice was rough with the strain, "Less than a year ago, I was the representative of the Fighter's Guild out here. Not exactly a prized post, but it was close to home. And now I'm leading a dwindling army through an endless siege. If anyone else dies because of me..." Her voice cracked as the guilt hit her in waves. She cried for all those she had lost, and all those she feared losing. A year of keeping it in, disarming, deflecting, and defending, the grief hit in her waves. Tears quietly streamed down her face. She was barely hiding it, but she would not let anyone see her cry, especially Ashaka who had been through so much.

"It wasn't your fault," Ashaka assured her.

Shebakh managed to quietly reply, "I know. I know. We simply weren't prepared."

"It's not your fault," Ashaka repeated, and marched over to here, slowly, heavily, the only way her new body could move. "Shebakh, listen to me. I know. I was there. You followed the Stronghold's plan. You followed orders. And, by Malacath, when the battle was lost, you were the last one up on the bridge still pulling up ladders and shooting down fireballs. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."

A sob escaped Shebakh's lips. She replied angrily, "Is that what an orc is supposed to do? Retreat?" She smashed her fist onto the table, and then ranted, "We retreated back into our thick, stone walls, scurrying away like frightened skeevers. Had we know we'd be starving on our own home, resurrecting our dead, for Malacath's sake, would we have retreated? Or would we have chosen the die like orcs?!" Shebakh finally lost it. She sunk to the floor and wept.

Ashaka stood over her, stunned, wordless. Ashaka had no answer. There were no easy answers.

After a moment of weakness, witnessed only by a lone clay soldier, General Shebakh managed to pull herself together, stand on her own two feet, and brush the dirt off her grieves. "Crying for yesterday will not fix today. We still need to prepare for tomorrow. I promised you your revenge, Ashaka, and you shall have it, on the battle field, as an orc ought."

"I believe in General Shebakh, you've never let us down. Not while you've been in command," Ashaka replied.

"Don't let Chief Abzug hear that," Shebakh joked, shoving down her pain.

Ashaka managed to laugh, and replied, "And what if the old man did? He was never good enough for me."

Shebakh nodded, "That's right. You are the one who brought back the Hand of Morkul."

"Yeah, I did," Ashaka replied proudly.