This story is about 4300 words.
Surk gave Lark one of his oafish smiles. He was probably pleased with himself. If he hadn't run in and escalated the situation then this wouldn't have happened and only the foolish orc who had ran in to try and quench his blood lust would have died. Now they had lost a large number of the orcs they had come with. It was hard enough for pack leaders to trust the recruits they brought in, but with this disaster under their belts, it would be difficult to find another group willing to take them on for some time if word got around.
"You nearly got us killed, you big oaf," Lark swore at Surk.
Surk's smile turned to a frown as he encountered something that he wasn't used to. Lark rarely if ever scolded Surk for his behavior - mostly because he realized that it was a waste of time. This must have been quite confusing for the dim witted orc.
"I killed lots of humans. I did right," Surk replied.
He probably doesn't realize what this will do to us, Lark thought. Sure they had gained a very large amount of honor today with the number of kills they could call their own, but word would get around. 'You can't trust Lark and Surk, they nearly got their raid party killed,' or 'Don't take Lark on. It was his fault.’ Lark felt like lashing out and breaking a few of his brother's teeth. That one certainly deserved it.
Lark turned towards the nearest human and, putting his blade back in its scabbard, brought out his belt knife. His brother was a fool, but he may as well eat some food before he went into the village to see if there were any survivors in there.