Page 35 of The Orc Who Saved Christmas

Suddenly, a firm hand grips my arm, pulling me back. "Claire, you can't go out there!" Elder Vincent exclaims, his voice stern. "It's too dangerous!" His eyes are filled with concern.

"Let me go!" I scream. My voice is sharp, a blade slicing through the cacophony.

I wrench my arm away, my resolve hardening with each passing second. "I won't let Thrag face them alone," I say, my voice steady despite the fear gnawing at my insides.

I rush towards the cave entrance. The din of battle outside the cave dwindles to an eerie silence so abruptly that it sends a shiver down my spine. My heart, which had been pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribcage, now seems to skip a beat altogether. I push past the villagers, their faces etched with fear and uncertainty, and emerge into the cold, crisp air of the night.

There, in the clearing ahead, lies Thrag in the snow. My heart plummets at the sight of him, his massive form so still, so silent. Blood pools beneath him, a stark contrast to the white blanket of snow. "No!" I scream, the sound tearing from my throat as I run and drop to my knees beside him.

His breaths come shallow and ragged, each one a battle in itself. I cradle his head in my lap, my hands trembling as I brush hair away from his face. "Thrag, you can't leave me," I whisper, my voice breaking with emotion.

The villagers soon gather around us, their murmurs a low hum in the background. Elder Vincent steps forward, his face a mask of grief. "He's too far gone," he says, his voice heavy with regret. "We can't save him."

A murmur of agreement ripples through the crowd, their eyes dark with resignation. "We have no supplies," one of them says. "It's best to end his suffering."

My heart rebelsagainst their words, a surge of anger and desperation welling up within me. "You can't just give up on him!" I cry out, my gaze sweeping over the faces of those I once considered my people. "He fought for us. We owe him this."

But my pleas fall on deaf ears. A group of men suddenly steps forward. My blood runs cold as I realize their intent. "Stop!" I scream loudly, tightening my hold on Thrag. "You're not going to kill him!"

Despite my protests, they manage to pry Thrag from my arms, their movements rough and uncaring. I cling to him desperately, my nails digging into the fabric of his tunic, but they pull him quickly away.

"Where are you taking him?" I plead, tears streaming down my face.

They ignore my question, their determination unwavering as they carry him away from the clearing, into the dark embrace of the forest. I scramble quickly to my feet, my heart pounding with desperation as I chase after them.

"You can't let him die!" I scream relentlessly, my voice echoing through the still night air.

The forest is a labyrinth of shadows, the moonlight filtering through the canopy above to cast eerie patterns on the snow-covered ground. I follow the trail of blood, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps as I struggle to keep up with the men.

Finally, they stop, their bodies silhouetted against the backdrop of the forest. I rush toward them, my hands outstretched in a silent plea. "Please," I beg, my voice barely above a whisper. "There has to be another way."

One of the men turns to face me, his eyes hard and unyielding. "Claire," he says, his tone almost apologetic. "He's suffering. It's a mercy to end it."

I shake my head, my mind racing as I search for a solution. "No," I insist, my voice steadfast. "There's always hope. We can't just give up on him."

36

CLAIRE

The cold night air cuts through my heavy coat as I stand in the middle of the forest. My heart aches at the sight of Thrag's motionless form against the snow. The men who had carried him here, with the intention of ending his suffering, now regard me with a mixture of pity and impatience. I refuse to let them extinguish the spark of hope that still flickers within me.

"No," I say again, the word a lifeline I cling to with desperate fingers. "There's always hope."

My mind races, searching for the right words, the right argument to make them see reason. But before I can speak, a new voice slices through the tension-laden air.

"Enough!" The command is sharp, authoritative. Elder Vincent emerges from the trees. Beside him walks the oldest member of our village, a man named Alfonso, whose presence commands much respect.

Alfonso's gaze sweeps over the assembled men and me before settling on Thrag. "This orc," he begins, his voice carrying the burden of many winters, "has done more for our settlement than some of our own kin. He has fought for us, bled for us. And if wemust exhaust every last resource we have to save him, then that is what we shall do."

A murmur ripples through the men, a wave of surprise and uncertainty. They exchange glances, their resolve wavering under the weight of Alfonso's decree.

Vincent nods solemnly, his eyes meeting mine. "We owe him that much," he says, his voice firm. "Let's get him back to the clearing outside the cave."

The men, spurred into action by the elder's words, lift Thrag carefully and begin the trek back to the cave. I follow close behind, my eyes never leaving Thrag's ashen face.

As we reach the clearing, the other villagers break into applause, their cheers echoing through the night. Even those who had advocated for Thrag's swift end now nod in agreement.

I fall to my knees beside Thrag, my hands hovering over his wounds. "We're going to save you," I whisper, my voice trembling with emotion. "I promise."

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