Page 13 of The Orc Who Saved Christmas

Thrag's amber eyes ignite with a fiery determination. "You need to stay put," he commands. I want to argue, to insist on standing by his side, but there's no time. The orcs are almost upon us, their grunts and snarls echoing through the night.

Thrag charges forward without a moment's hesitation, his axe slicing through the air with lethal precision. The first orc doesn't stand a chance. Thrag cleaves through its chest with a single, powerful swing. Crimson sprays across the pristine snow,painting a gruesome tableau that would make me sick were it not for the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Another orc lunges, its blade arcing toward Thrag's broad back. But he's already moving, his reactions almost supernaturally quick. He sidesteps the attack and counters with a swift elbow to the orc's face, following up with a brutal slash that opens its throat in a gush of blood.

I can't tear my eyes away, even as my mind rebels against the savagery of the scene unfolding before me. Thrag is a whirlwind of destruction, his movements raw and untamed, yet each action is calculated, each strike landing with deadly accuracy. An orc manages to land a hit, its blade leaving a ragged wound across Thrag's muscular shoulder. The sight of his blood, dark against his greenish skin, sends a jolt of fear through me. But Thrag doesn't falter. He seizes the orc by the head and slams it into the ground with such force that the impact echoes in the stillness.

The last orc soon falls,its lifeless eyes staring blankly at the star-strewn sky. Thrag stands amidst the carnage, his chest heaving with exertion, his body marred by new wounds that will surely leave more scars.

I rush to his side, my hands shaking as I reach out to touch his arm. "Thrag, are you okay?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. He glares at me, a mix of annoyance and something else—something I can't quite identify—flashing in his amber gaze. But he doesn't pull away as I gently probe the gash on his shoulder.

"You're reckless," he growls, wincing as I apply pressure to the wound.

"I knew you would come," I say softly, holding his gaze. Inside, I'm reeling, a tumult of gratitude and disbelief churningwithin me. This orc, who had every reason to leave me to my fate, chose to stand and fight. For me. For those children.

Thrag's glare softens, just barely, but he says nothing. The silence stretches between us, filled with the heavy thud of my heart and the distant howl of a winter wind. I realize then that my life has become irrevocably entwined with his, this unlikely protector who defies every expectation I've ever had of his kind.

I release a shaky breath, my fingers lingering on the warm skin of his arm. "We need to get back to the children," I say, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. Thrag nods, his expression unreadable.

As we make our way back to find the children, I can't help but cast sidelong glances at Thrag. His face is a mask of stoicism, but I can see the weariness in the set of his shoulders, the slight hitch in his stride. He's hurt, and yet, he doesn't slow down, doesn't complain. His strength isn't just in his impressive physique; it's in his unwavering resolve, his willingness to stand against the darkness, even when it costs him dearly.

14

THRAG

Istride 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 recountthe 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.

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