Page 52 of Her Rugged Orcs

"It's over," Murok says, wiping blood from his blade and sheathing it.

I look at Dex's corpse, at the fear forever frozen on his face, and feel a sense of peace in this moment. "Yes," I whisper. "It's finally over."

I turn back to Dren and my heart stops. He's on his knees, dark blood seeping between his fingers where they press against the wound in his side. The metallic scent fills my nostrils as I drop beside him, adding my hands over his to stem the flow.

"Stay with me," I beg, my voice cracking. His silver eyes meet mine, usually so sharp and alert, now clouded with pain.

"We... won," he rasps, trying to smile, but the effort makes him wince. His skin feels colder under my touch, his breathing shallow and uneven.

"Pack the wound tight," Grash barks from behind me. "We need to stop the bleeding now."

Murok works silently beside me, his hands steady as he presses cloth against the gash. But I can see the fear in his eyes, the slight tremor in his usually confident movements.

I press my lips to Dren's forehead, tasting salt and copper. His skin burns beneath my touch even as his body grows colder. I kiss his cheeks, his nose, anywhere I can reach, as if I could pour my own life force into him through these desperate touches.

When my lips find his, they're already turning blue. "You can't die," I whisper against them, tears falling freely now. "We’re supposed to share our future together."

His hand finds mine, weak but present. Through blood-stained lips, he says softly, "Guess I better live then."

I feel completely helpless as I watch his breathing become more labored, his eyes fluttering. "Don't you dare leave me," I say, my voice stronger now despite the tears streaming down my face.

I clutch Dren's hand tighter as Murok disappears into the forest, his braids whipping behind him as he searches for healing herbs. Dren's skin feels cold and clammy beneath my touch, his breathing shallow but steady after Murok's careful bandaging.

Grash's heavy footsteps echo behind me as he paces, his concern radiating off him in waves. "He's strong," he growls, more to himself than to me. "He'll make it."

I press my lips to Dren's knuckles, tasting copper. "Please stay with me," I whisper against his skin. His eyes flutter open at my touch, clouded with pain but still alert enough to find mine.

"Not... going anywhere," he manages, his voice rough but determined.

My heart clenches at the weakness in his usually steady tone. I've never seen him this vulnerable. The mighty shadow-warrior reduced to labored breaths and trembling fingers.

"You better not," I say, trying to keep my voice light despite the fear crushing my chest. "We have too much left to do together."

His lips twitch. "Like what?"

"Like showing me how you move so silently. Like teaching me all your secrets." I stroke his face, memorizing every line and shadow. "Like loving me for the rest of our lives."

His hand tightens around mine, strength returning to his grip. Color slowly seeps back into his face, his breathing growing stronger with each passing moment.

When Murok returns with his herbs, Dren is already sitting up straighter, his eyes clearer. The wound still looks angry and red, but the bleeding has stopped completely.

"Impossible," Murok breathes, dropping to his knees beside us to check the bandages.

But I don't care about possible or impossible. I only care that Dren's skin is warming beneath my touch, that his pulse beats steady and strong against my fingers.

I capture Dren's lips with mine, feeling the warmth returning to his skin. His hand cups the back of my neck with that familiar gentleness that always makes my heart flutter. Even wounded, he touches me like I'm precious, like I'm something worth protecting.

"I thought I was losing you," I whisper against his mouth, my fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. His eyes lock with mine, usually so guarded, now brimming with emotion.

"When I saw you hurting and scared," he says, voice rough but steady, "I knew I had to stay. I couldn't bear seeing you in pain." His thumb brushes away a tear I didn't know had fallen. "You give me something to live for, Eira. And I want to prove my love to you every day of our lives."

37

GRASH

The morning sun casts long shadows across the bloodstained ground as I watch the flames consume what's left of our enemies. My muscles ache from the battle, but I keep working, dragging more bodies onto the pyre.

Murok works beside me in silence, his braids still matted with blood. We don't need to speak - we both know what needs to be done. Every dark elf body burned is another thread connecting Eira to this place and to her past being severed.

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