"Thenk you. Nice vhen things go dat way, no?" He meant about the wedding dress exchange. Good to know someone had sewing skills, here--Orrig himself could patch his own shirts and trousers--Dotra had made sure of that--but he was definitely not on the level of his wife, or this girl, either, it seemed.

He moves carefully, aware of his size around smaller folk, even if it's only the two of them in the kitchen, for now. He wasn't entirely certain of the food, either--smelled good, looked different from what he was familiar with, but the former was what won him over. He tried to leave enough for other people, but an orc needed to eat!

"Name is Orrig. You are?" Foodgiver was a good term, but not the proper one. And long years of mercenary work had taught him some politeness, even if he still spoke with something of an accent.