Page 26 of The Orc Who Saved Christmas

As I walk away, I can't help but feel a sense of hope. This Christmas will be unlike any other, but perhaps, in this cave, we can find a new kind of celebration. One born of necessity, survival, and the unlikely bonds formed in the face of adversity.

"Claire!" Sammy calls out. Her voice cuts through the murmur of the settlers, her call to action a familiar rallying cry. I make my way over. Our meager provisions simmer in the pot she carries.

"Time to feed the men," she says, passing me a tray laden with bowls.

The smell of the stew sets my stomach rumbling in protest of its emptiness. I take two bowls, the heat seeping through theworn wood and into my palms. "What about Thrag's?" I ask, glancing toward the orc who's become our unlikely savior.

Sammy hesitates, her forehead creasing with worry. "We don't have enough for... someone his size," she mutters. Her words hang heavy in the air, a stark reminder of our precarious situation.

A pang of guilt twists in my gut. "He's doing so much for us. It's not fair," I say. I can't bear the thought of him going without, especially after all he's done.

Sammy sighs, her gaze sweeping over the bustling camp. "I know, but... we're pooling everything together, Claire. We barely have enough as it is. If this keeps up…" Her voice trails off, the unspoken implications lingering between us.

I shake my head, determination setting in. "Give him my share," I insist.

Sammy's eyes widen in shock. "Claire, no! You'll starve," she says.

I offer her a reassuring smile, my mind set. "I'll be fine. I'll eat some dried fruit later. Thrag needs this more than I do," I say firmly.

With the bowls balanced precariously in my hands, I navigate the icy terrain. The men are huddled together, their breaths visible in the frigid air as they share quiet words.

"Thrag!" I call out, my voice carrying over the sound of tools clanging against stone and wood. He turns, his golden eyes locking onto mine.

I approach, extending a bowl toward him. "Here. Eat," I insist.

Thrag takes the bowl, his large hand dwarfing the simple wooden vessel. His gaze flickers to the tray in my other hand, noting its lack of contents. "Where's yours?" he asks, his deep voice rumbling with concern.

I wave off his question, a flush creeping up my cheeks. "I already ate," I lie, the betrayal of my own body impossible to ignore as my stomach growls audibly.

Thrag pauses, the bowl halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he sets it down on a nearby rock, his eyes never leaving mine. "Claire," he says, his tone firm yet gentle. "What's going on?"

I try to laugh it off, but the sound rings hollow in the crisp air. "I'm fine, really. Just... eat," I say.

He shakes his head. "I won't eat if you don't," he says firmly.

My heart skips a beat at his words, the depth of his concern both surprising and heartwarming. "Thrag, you need your strength. You can't protect us if you're weak from hunger," I persist.

His jaw sets in a stubborn line, a silent vow that he'll endure whatever hardships come our way—so long as I do the same. "Then we'll be weak together," he says, his gaze unwavering.

The absurdity of the situation hits me, and despite everything, I find myself smiling. Here I am, a human woman, trying to convince an orc warrior to take care of himself because he insists on sharing in our suffering.

27

THRAG

Ilook at her, this slip of a human who thinks nothing of giving away her food to a beast like me. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, or maybe it's embarrassment at being caught in her selfless act.

"Why would you give me your food?" I ask.

She stammers, her gaze flickering away. "It's not a big deal—” she mutters.

I cut her off. Picking up the spoon, I hold it out to her. "Eat," I command.

Her eyes widen. "But you—" she starts.

"I won’t watch you starve. Eat," I rumble.

Reluctantly, she takes the spoon from me. She hesitates for a moment before taking a small bite. The stew is simple, but the way her face lights up, you'd think she's tasting the finest delicacies in the land.

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