Page 11 of The Orc Who Saved Christmas

"Well, maybe you should try," I say, nudging his arm with my hand. "Christmas is all about making things for others. Gifts, decorations… it's part of the spirit."

He scoffs, but he doesn't refuse the next acorn I offer. As he attempts to carve it, I explain more about Christmas, painting a picture of Santa and his reindeer, of chimneys and stockings filled with treats.

Thrag's face darkens at the mention of Santa. "This… Christmas. You keep talking about it. What does it even mean to you and why do you care so much about it?" he asks gruffly.

I sit back, cradling an acorn in my hands. "It's a time for hope and showing love. For being kind to others. It's about sharing warmth in a cold world," I reply softly.

His gaze meets mine,and for a moment, there's a vulnerability in his eyes that I've never seen before. "No one acts like that. That's not how the world works," he rumbles.

I shake my head, my smile unwavering. "Maybe not your world. But it's why we try—to make it better," I say.

We fall into silence, the only sound the crackle of the flames and the soft whisper of the wind through the trees. Thrag's attention is focused on the acorn in his hand, his movements slow and deliberate as he finally manages to carve a small notch into it.

When he finally speaks, his voice is softer than I've ever heard it. "This is for you," he says, holding out the acorn. It's crude and misshapen, but the gesture makes my heart swell with an emotion I can't quite place.

"Thank you, Thrag," I say, taking the acorn from him. Our fingers brush, and a jolt of warmth travels up my arm. "It's perfect."

He grunts, looking away as if embarrassed by the exchange. But there's a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and it's a sight more beautiful than any Christmas decoration I've ever seen.

As the night deepens, we continue our work, the pile of carved acorns growing steadily. Thrag's initial skepticism seems to have faded, replaced by a quiet determination to master this peculiar human custom.

I watch him, my heart filled with a strange mixture of admiration and affection. This orc, this fearsome warrior, has become more than just my protector—he's become my friend. And as the stars twinkle overhead, I can't help but wonder if perhaps this Christmas will be merrier than I ever could have imagined.

Suddenly, the peaceful stillness of our secluded camp shatters with the distant echo of hooves pounding against the frozen earth. Thrag's massive form tenses beside me, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his axe. The soft glow of our fire, which had seemed so welcoming just moments ago, now feels like a beacon in the dark, an invitation to danger.

"Quiet," Thrag growls, his voice barely above a whisper as he extinguishes the fire with a swift, practiced motion. Darkness wraps around us like a shroud, the moonlight our only ally as the sounds grow louder, more distinct.

He pulls me behind the thick trunk of a towering tree, his body shielding mine. His hand, surprisingly gentle, clamps over my mouth, stifling the gasp that threatens to escape my lips. "Don't move," he breathes into my ear, his warm breath a stark contrast to the icy chill of the night air.

Peering around Thrag's broad shoulder, my heart lodges in my throat. Four orcs, their forms monstrous and twisted, drag a cluster of sobbing children through the snow. The sight is a punch to the gut, a cruel reminder of the harsh reality we livein. "Those kids are… they're from my settlement," I whisper, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. Thrag's body stiffens, his grip on me tightening.

The children's cries pierce the night, each sob a testament to their terror. My mind races with questions. How did this happen? Why were they taken? The settlement should have been safe, hidden away from the world's dangers. I had left them in search of supplies, believing they would be protected in my absence. The guilt that grips me is a physical ache, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest.

I watch, helpless, as the orcs continue their relentless march, their captives struggling against their iron grip. The sight of those innocent faces, streaked with tears and dirt, ignites a fire within me. I turn to Thrag, desperation seeping into my voice. "We have to do something. We can't just let them take those children," I plead.

Thrag's amber eyes meet mine, the conflict within them evident even in the dim light. "It's not our fight," he says, though the conviction in his voice wavers.

"Not our fight?" I echo, my words laced with disbelief. "They're just children, Thrag. They're scared and alone, and we're the only ones who can help them."

He looks away, his jaw clenching as he wrestles with his conscience.

12

THRAG

The chill of the night air cuts through my heavy furs, but it's nothing compared to the icy daggers Claire's gaze throws my way. "We leave. Now," I insist, my voice a low rumble.

"But the kids!" Claire hisses, her eyes wide with desperation.

I grit my teeth, the taste of iron flooding my mouth as I resist the urge to snap at her. "I'm not risking my life for a bunch of humans," I growl. "They’re not my problem."

Her hand shoots out, grabbing my arm with a strength that surprises me. "They’re my problem! Those are my students! I taught them to read, to hope, to dream about a better world. I can’t let them die like this!" she cries softly.

I shake my head, my jaw clenched so tight I fear my teeth might crack. "Hope doesn’t save lives. Strength does," I growl.

"Then use your strength!" Claire snaps through clenched teeth. "You’re the strongest being I’ve ever met. You can save them. Why are you running away? What are you so afraid of?"

Her words strike deeper than any blade, stirring something within me that I've kept buried for years. I don't want to help. I don't want to get involved. But as I glance back toward the trail left by the captors and their quivering cargo, recognition slicesthrough me. Those are the kids I gave the wolf to. The ones who called me Santa. They're really from her settlement.

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