Page 25 of The Orc Who Saved Christmas

By afternoon, the cave looms ahead. It's a massive structure hidden within the cliffs, a formidable fortress. Its stone walls are a promise of safety. As the villagers file inside, their relief is palpable.

I watch over them closely. My chest soon swells with a strange sense of pride. I've done this. I've helped keep them alive.

I turn to the elders, outlining my plan for traps around the cave's perimeter. "We need a warning system," I explain, my voice firm. "Traps will alert us to any intruders."

Vincent claps a hand on my shoulder. "Your tactics will serve us well, Thrag. We're in your debt," he says, his voice tinged with gratitude.

I grunt in acknowledgment, dismissing the praise. It's not about debt or repayment. It's about survival, about protecting those who can't protect themselves.

Later that night, firelight dances across the faces of the villagers, casting flickering shadows on the cavernous walls of our refuge. The scent of stewed game and herbs fills the air, a comforting aroma that reminds me of the meals my clan once shared. I sit on the cold stone floor, my back to the cave wall, an unlikely figure of protection amidst the sea of humans.

A group of women approaches me. Their eyes shimmer with a mix of fear and gratitude. Each carries a bowl of steaming stew, their hands unsteady as they offer the meal. I accept with a curt nod. My chest feels uncharacteristically warm at their gesture. These people, who once recoiled at the sight of me, now look upon me with something akin to respect. It's a sensation I'm not accustomed to, but I find myself not entirely opposed to it.

"Thank you, Thrag," one of the women murmurs, her gaze quickly darting away from mine. I grunt in response and focus on the stew before me. The flavors are simple and hearty, a testament to Claire's teachings about seasoning. I swallow a mouthful, the warmth spreading through me, and for a moment, I allow myself to believe that perhaps, we can survive this winter.

Across the fire, Claire's gaze meets mine. Her smile is a beacon in the dim light of the cave, a silent thank you that resonates deep within me. She rises and navigates through the clusters of villagers. Her steps are sure and steady as she comes to sit beside me.

"You embody the spirit of Christmas," Claire teases, her eyes twinkling.

I frown, the concept of this 'Christmas' still foreign to me. "What does that even mean?" I ask.

She grins, her teeth a bright flash in the firelight. "It means helping others without expectation," she explains. Her voice drops to a whisper, and she adds, "We just need to exchange gifts now, and it will really feel like Christmas."

My frown deepens. "Gifts?" I question, the word unfamiliar on my tongue.

"Yes," Claire replies, her excitement palpable. "It's a tradition. You give something meaningful to someone else." She hesitates, her gaze dropping to her hands. "I have something for you. But it's a surprise."

I watch her, my mind racing. The idea of giving—and receiving—is not something orcs typically concern themselves with. We take what we need, defend what is ours. But this... this is different.

"What should I give?" I ask.

Claire's smile returns, soft and encouraging. "Anything. It's the thought that counts," she says softly.

I nod, determination settling within me. I will find something worthy of her, something that conveys the tumultuous feelings she's stirred within my calloused heart.

As the night wears on, the villagers begin to settle, their energy waning after the day's exertions. I keep my vigil by the fire, my thoughts consumed by the enigma that is Claire.

26

CLAIRE

The icy air nips at my cheeks, a reminder of the harsh world beyond the cave's mouth. I wrap my arms tightly around myself and watch the men work tirelessly under Thrag's attentive eye. The snowfall is gentle, a soft veil descending upon the landscape, muffling the sounds of their labor. Thrag's hulking form moves with a purpose, his every motion precise and commanding. He's a pillar of strength amidst the uncertainty, and I can't help but feel a surge of pride.

The men are setting up traps around the perimeter, following Thrag's lead. They're still wary of him, their eyes darting to his brooding form. They're unsure of what to make of this orc who has, for reasons beyond their understanding, chosen to stand with us rather than against us. Yet, there's a grudging respect slowly taking root. One of the men, a burly blacksmith named Harlan, actually offers Thrag a stiff nod of approval after he secures a trap with a final, decisive thud.

I step forward slightly, my boots crunching in the fresh snow. "You're doing a great job," I call out, my voice carrying on the wind. Thrag turns at the sound of my voice, his golden eyesmeeting mine. A faint smile tugs at his lips, a rare sight that sends a flutter through my chest.

"Claire," he rumbles, his deep voice resonating through the earth. "Come see."

I approach hesitantly, my heart pounding a little faster with each step. The men part to let me through, their curious gazes following me. Thrag gestures to the trap, a complex contraption of sharpened stakes and hidden magic. "This will alert us if anyone unwanted tries to approach," he explains.

"It's impressive," I admit, my eyes tracing the lines of the trap before lifting to meet his gaze. "You've taught them well."

He grunts in reply, a flush of green darkening his cheeks. Thrag has always been a man of few words, but his actions speak volumes. He's earning their trust, one trap at a time.

Harlan clears his throat, breaking the moment. "We should get back to work. There's much to do before nightfall," he urges.

Thrag nods, turning back to the task at hand. I linger for a moment, watching as he guides Harlan's hands, correcting the angle of a trap. The scene is surreal—an orc and a human, working side by side, united by a common goal.

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