Title: The Worg and the Clefthoof
Author: Unknown; old folk tale
Race/Culture: Orc (Original Timeline)
The worg woke from his slumber with a mighty yawn. There were but a few months in which Frostfire wasn’t under constant blizzard bombardment, and this was when worgs and garn would hunt - to fatten up for the winter.
But this worg thought himself both smart and picky.
He did not feast on frostboars, their hides too leathery.
He did not feast on the ogres, their numbers too many to hunt - and the same for those blasted orcs!
No - the worg wanted for clefthoof blood, for it would be filling, and keep him sated for the winter. But he could not topple a clefthoof alone, he knew, and he did not want to share his prey with a pack.
An idea came to the worg. What if he waited, for the young clefthoof bulls to finish one of their earth-rumbling one-on-one battle of an adulthood rite? Clever, he thought to himself.
When the time came, he lied patiently in wait. And when a weaker bull was toppled, he leapt out of hiding, biting into the weakened beast’s throat for a quick kill.
What the worg had not prepared for, however, was the clefthoof’s furious opponent - still standing tall and now fuelled by the death of his kin. He charged the worg, and gored him where he stood, before he’d even swallowed his first bite.
The morale of the story is simple, little pups. We must work, for our rewards. Nothing is free, and everything is an exchange. Now go play, Garad is about to call the hunt…