14. Thrag
14
THRAG
I stride through the snow, my breaths heavy and labored from the weight of what just transpired. The metallic tang of blood—mine, the orcs'—lingers in the air, mingling with the scent of damp earth and crushed pine needles. My axe, still slick with the enemies' lifeblood, feels comforting in my grip.
Claire's small frame trembles, and she stumbles beside me. Her eyes are wide with a mix of fear and relief. I scoop her up before she can protest, the heat of my hands seeping through her thin clothing. Her breath hitches as I set her down by a massive pine.
"Are you okay?" I grunt, my voice gruffer than intended.
She shakes her head, biting her lower lip, a gesture that sends an inexplicable jolt through me. "No, but... you came looking for me," she whispers softly.
Her words pierce the armor I've built around myself. I want to yell at her, to tell her how foolish she's been, but suddenly children's excited chatter cuts through the tension in the air.
"Santa Claus!" one of them shouts, pointing at me with unbridled joy. Their small hands wave excitedly as they recount the tale to Claire about the wolf and the feast it provided. A flush soon creeps up my neck and into my cheeks.
Claire's laughter suddenly rings out, a sound so at odds with the violence that just unfolded. "You're a hero to them," she says, her voice soft and full of something I dare not name.
I grunt, uncomfortable with the title. Heroes don't walk away from their clans. Heroes don't question their purpose with every waking breath.
"You're the kindest orc I've ever known," she continues, her hand brushing gently against my arm. The warmth of her touch sears through the layers of fur and leather, igniting something within me—a longing I thought I'd buried with my kin.
I jerk away abruptly, my jaw clenching so tightly it threatens to shatter my teeth. "Enough," I snap, the word coming out harsher than I intend. "We need to move now. Can you walk on your own?"
She nods, determination etching lines into her face. The children lead the way, their small forms darting through the snow with an energy only the young possess. I watch Claire as she follows them, her steps steady despite her earlier tremors.
The journey is silent, save for the children's occasional chatter and the distant howling of the wind. My mind races with thoughts I can't quite grasp, each one tangled with the woman who walks beside me. Her presence is a balm to the wound I've carried since the fall of my clan—a wound I've kept open with guilt and solitude.
The chill of the pre-dawn air nips at my skin, a stark reminder of the harsh world that awaits me. Claire's footsteps crunch in the snow beside me, a rhythm I've grown accustomed to over the past days. Her presence, once a source of irritation, now stirs something unfamiliar within me—a flicker of warmth in the icy cavern of my chest.
We trek on for miles, the landscape shifting from the dense forest that shielded us to the barren expanse that surrounds her settlement. The sight of the crude wooden walls, now etched against the lightening sky, brings a flush of relief to her face.
Without warning, she leaps at me, her arms wrapping around my neck in an exuberant hug. "We made it, Thrag!" she exclaims, her voice laced with joy and a hint of disbelief. "You did it. You brought us home safely."
I stiffen, my hands hovering awkwardly at my sides before I manage to pry her off me. "Stop that," I mutter, setting her down firmly. "You're back where you belong." The words taste bitter on my tongue, a lie I'm trying desperately to believe.
She stumbles back, her eyes wide and questioning. "Thrag, wait—" she begins, but I cut her off, my voice cold.
"I'm leaving now," I say firmly.
Her expression crumbles, replaced by a look of desperation that mirrors the sinking feeling in my gut. "Stay," she pleads, her hand reaching out to me. "Celebrate Christmas with us. You've earned a place at our table."
I shake my head, a growl rumbling in my throat. "I'm not interested in your human holidays," I say, turning my back on her. My broad shoulders stiffen as I walk away, each step driving the knife deeper into my chest.
Her voice follows me, a soft entreaty carried on the wind. "Thrag!" she calls out, but I don't stop. I can't. The sound of my name on her lips is a siren's call, one that threatens to completely shatter the fortress I've built around my heart.
I push myself harder, the familiar burn of exertion a welcome distraction from the tumult of emotions raging within me. The settlement fades into the distance, swallowed by the relentless expanse of snow and ice.
Alone once more, I allow myself a moment of weakness, my breaths coming out in ragged gasps. The image of Claire's face, lit up with the joy of homecoming, haunts me. I tell myself it's for the best. She belongs with her own kind, among the warmth and chatter of human life. Me? I belong to the wilds—a solitary beast, fit only for the cold embrace of solitude.
But as the sun crests the horizon, casting long shadows across the frozen landscape, I can't shake the feeling of her arms around me, the heat of her body against mine. For a fleeting moment, I'd allowed myself to imagine a different life—one where I wasn't alone, where the weight of my past didn't hang heavy on my shoulders.
I grit my teeth, forcing the thoughts aside. I am Thrag, son of Thrak, last of my line. I have no room for softness, for dreams of what could never be. My path is one of survival, of clinging to a life that has been stripped of meaning and purpose.