27. Eira
27
EIRA
T he night air chills my skin as I cling to Dren, my wrists burning from where the ropes cut deep. Blood cakes the side of my face where I was struck, making my hair stick uncomfortably. My whole body trembles, though I try to stop it.
Grash and Murok emerge from the shadows, their massive forms illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the forest canopy. Around us, twelve dark elf bodies litter the ground, their blood seeping into the earth. The metallic scent mingles with pine needles and the night air.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I shouldn't have run."
Dren's arms tighten around me. His eyes scan my injuries. His jaw clenches when he sees the raw flesh of my wrists and the gash on my temple.
"You're hurt." Grash's voice rumbles as he approaches, his eyes blazing with rage. He reaches for my face, his touch surprisingly gentle as he examines the wound on my temple.
I want to look away but can't. "I'm fine," I whisper, though my voice cracks. Stupid. Weak. I hate how small I sound.
"You're not fine," Murok says as he crouches beside us pulling out a water skin. "Hold still."
He begins cleaning the blood from my face, his movements precise and careful. I wince at his touch but lean into it all the same. "I thought..." The words die in my throat. I thought they wouldn't come. I thought I meant nothing to them. I thought wrong.
"We need to move," Dren says quietly, standing with me still in his arms. "More patrols will come."
Dren's arms tighten around me for a moment before he shifts, preparing to pass me to Grash. I don't resist when Grash reaches for me, his massive hands surprisingly gentle as he lifts me against his chest. The familiar scent of earth and steel wraps around me, and something inside me breaks.
They came for me. They shouldn't have - I ran from them, doubted them, and still they came. My fingers curl into Grash's shirt as tears threaten to fall. I blink them back, refusing to cry, but my body won't stop shaking.
"Never again," Murok says, his blue eyes intense as they meet mine. "You don't run from us. Ever."
I nod, not trusting my voice. Shame burns within me - shame for running, for getting caught, for needing rescue. But beneath that shame is something else, something that feels dangerously like hope again. They killed to save me from being dragged back to the pits. They risked everything.
"Let's go," Grash rumbles as he carries me away from the carnage they created.
I don't deserve this care and protection. But as Grash holds me close, as Murok glances back with concern in his eyes, as Dren stays close enough to touch, I realize I want to earn it.
Dawn breaks over the mountain peaks, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. We've been moving through dense forest for several hours, taking paths that seem to wind unnecessarily through the roughest terrain. My body aches from the night's ordeal, but Grash's arms remain steady as he carries me, though his touch lacks its usual warmth.
"We should rest soon," Murok says as he scans the terrain ahead. "There's a clearing just beyond those rocks."
I notice how they keep their distance now, even as they protect me. Dren shadows our steps like a ghost, his eyes alert for danger, but he hasn't met my gaze since the rescue. Something hangs in the air around us.
Grash's chest rises and falls against my cheek as we climb higher. His eyes remain fixed ahead, none of his usual teasing or gruff affection present. When we reach the clearing, he sets me down with mechanical precision, careful not to let his hands linger.
"I'll take first watch," Dren murmurs, melting into the shadows of a nearby pine.
My wrists throb where the ropes cut deep, and Murok approaches with fresh water and fabric scraps. His movements are efficient as he tends my wounds, but gone is the playful banter, replaced by tense silence.
"Rest while you can," Murok finally says. "We move in an hour."
I cross my arms, fighting the urge to demand answers. The way they look at me - it's like they're trying to solve a puzzle they're not sure they want to complete.
Grash settles nearby, close enough to protect but far enough that I feel the distance. He begins sharpening his blade. The familiar motion should be comforting, but something about his rigid posture sets my nerves on edge.
I should be grateful - I am grateful. But as the sun climbs higher and their silence grows heavier, I can't shake the feeling that they're holding something back.
I curl into myself further, watching them move around me like I'm made of glass - or perhaps poison. The morning air bites at my skin, but it's their distance that makes me shiver. Why save someone you don't trust? Why kill for someone you suspect of betrayal?
"Do you trust me?" The words slip out before I can stop them, barely a whisper in the clearing. My eyes find each of them in turn, searching for something, anything.
Grash's hands still on his axe. His golden-brown eyes meet mine, then drop away. The hesitation in his face shatters something inside me. This massive orc who carried me through forests, who killed for me without hesitation, can't even answer a simple question.
My throat tightens. "Grash?"
He runs a hand over his face, the tribal tattoos on his arm shifting with the movement. "Eira..."
"I want to," Murok cuts in, his voice measured as he adjusts his braids. His blue eyes pierce mine with that tactical assessment I've come to know. "But the evidence-"
"What evidence?" My voice cracks. "That I ran? Of course I ran! You all looked at me like I was-" I can't finish. Like I was nothing. Like I was a traitor.
Dren remains in the shadows of the pines, his eyes unreadable. His silence crushes me more than any words could. He who held me through the night, who touched me with such gentleness - now he won't even speak.
I fight back tears. "I should hate you," I whisper. "I should hate you for doubting me after everything."
But I don't move. I don't run. Instead, I stay rooted in this spot, watching these three impossible orcs who've turned my world upside down. Who rescued me twice now - once from the pits, once from my own foolishness. Who look at me with doubt but still killed to keep me safe.
The contradiction tears at me. I hate them for their suspicion, for the way they guard their words around me now. But I love them for coming after me anyway, for wanting to believe in me despite their doubts.