|at the edge of the children pit|
In orcs, pregnancy strikes like a disease. Mothers never really recover from it. Sooner or later it kills them.
Sooner than later.
A final gift from the father of her children. The one who did not acknowledge her voice.
Fever and delirium are the headiest symptoms. The delirium dims whilst the infant suckles. The fever remains, usually quite high. Like garbage coffee, overheated to hide its hideousness, orc milk sears the tongue.
Orcine infants fight to cease feeding. Orcine mothers fight to feed them continually.
From almost their first breath, orcs know nothing but pain and violence.
After three days, occasionally as long as three weeks, the infants can consume raw flesh. They are then thrown into the children pit with a few fresh carcasses. Whenever a child can climb out of the pit, they are members of the tribe.
This is celebrated with a feast.
The feast of course is an affront to the hateful yellow god that made the orcs.
Fasting follows it. Sometimes famine.
Orcs are made to hate and to suffer.