The Nomad Chronicles

I am working in my garden on the edge of a forest near some plains and rolling hills right next to a river. I am a large orc with dark green skin. I am digging a trench with a pickaxe. "Pumpkins, potatoes, tomatoes, squash, and orcroots," I am saying to myself, planning out my sowing.
I stand up and stretch. The sun shows me it is now mid-morning. I take a deep breath. The pine smells lovely out here, like freedom, like peace, like solitude. I do feel lonely, though I prefer the company of the wild beasts to the company of my own kin.
I have a flashback to the smell I hate: the smell of burning flesh. I involuntarily recall a hellish memory of childhood, after a victorious battle against the Elves, many were brought back to our city as prisoners. They had been stripped of their clothes and beaten clubs and whipped. They forced the Elves into large hanging cages, then lit large fires under them, burning them to death.
After they all died, they removed the dead bodies, butchered them, then cut the pieces into small cubes which they dried and preserved with salt and sugar. I did not see the butchering or the preservation process, though I did unknowingly eat the elf-flesh as a child, as the elf-flesh cubes are given to all orc children as soon as we get our first teeth in. I remember the screams of the Elves as their hair would catch fire.
I shudder. I need more sun. I feel chill. I mount my horse, a large brown and white mare, and I ride out of the forest to the green rolling hills. I ride up one of the smaller hills, and rest on the slope in the sun.
I hear a rustling in the lone tree behind me, and a female orc falls out on to the ground. I am startled, especially because orcs generally dislike climbing. She looks weak and tries to stand, then says, "I was running..." then faints. I run to her and catch her. I give her a sip of pomegranate juice from my canteen, then, I put her on my horse, and we ride back to my cabin. She fades in and out of consciousness, murmuring about running.
We get back, and I take her in, and lay her down on my bed, then I heat up some medicinal tea. I give her some water, and she sits up, and opens her eyes.
She has green skin with light green spots. Her eyes are yellow, and her hair is brown. She says, "Thank you, stranger, I am running from an orc that wants to kill me, for I refused to marry him after he bought me on the stock market. He has been pursuing me for three months. I have about a two week lead in front of him, yet he still comes relentlessly. His name is Stonefist."
I nod.
"May I have some more juice, friend? I am hungry, yet I cannot eat for my stomach is too small from being in survival mode."
I give her more juice, then begin chopping vegetables for soup.
"What are you doing, sir?"
"I am making you vegetable soup."
"Just vegetables?"
"I eat no flesh. Not that of elves or beasts."
"Stonefist eats the flesh of orcs."
"What a vile orc."
"So, this is why you're here? You're a heretic, like me."
"I've been called such." I put the vegetables into a big pot of hot water, then stoke my fire.
"You're a kind orc. I trust you." She smiles, and goes back to sleep.
I return to working in the garden.
Over the next several days, I learn her name is Snowmaiden, and she begins to recover from thirst and hunger. She tells me Stonefist will arrive soon, alone, as he is a proud orc. Her father sold her to the stock market after she refused to eat the flesh of an elf he killed in battle. Stonefist bought her, and took her home, then she ran away, and has been running since.
I generally hate my own race, almost as much as I hate Elves, so I will have no problem killing the vile bastard on sight.