18. Claire

18

CLAIRE

T he council room door creaks closed behind Thrag. I rush after him, my boots crunching on the fresh layer of snow that blankets the settlement. "Thank you, again," I say, my breath forming a soft cloud in the frigid air. "For helping out."

Thrag grunts. "I'm only doing it for the children. Not you," he mutters.

My smile softens. "Still… it means a lot to me," I say softly. He tries to avoid looking at me, his stoic expression betraying nothing.

I decide to show him more of the settlement, hoping to make him feel welcome as he recovers from his injuries. "Would you like a tour?" I ask, my tone light.

He hesitates, then gives a nod. We set off slowly down the snow-packed path, the settlement waking up around us. Smoke curls from thatched roofs, and the distant sound of children's laughter punctuates the quiet morning.

As we walk, villagers stare, their faces pale with fear. Mothers pull their children close, and men grip farming tools like weapons. My chest tightens with frustration. "They're still scared of you," I say quietly.

Thrag stands off to the side for a brief rest. "They should be," he says flatly. "I'm an orc."

I shake my head, determination flaring within me. "No," I insist. "They should see you as I do—as a protector." I approach a group of villagers, their eyes wide with apprehension. "He's not dangerous," I tell them firmly. "He's helping us."

My friends exchange uneasy glances. "Claire… just keep him away from us, okay?" one of them says.

Frustration boils inside me. "How can you be so ungrateful?" I snap. "He's risking his life for us!"

My friends' footsteps fade into the distance, their fear hanging in the air. I turn to Thrag, his massive form casting a long shadow in the morning light. "Don't waste your time defending me," he grumbles, his amber eyes meeting mine with a stoic resignation.

I step closer, my heart pounding against my ribs. "They should know better," I say, my voice firm. "You're not the enemy here."

Thrag's gaze softens for a fraction of a second, a flicker of gratitude that's gone as quickly as it appears. "Your energy is better spent elsewhere," he advises.

I cross my arms, a stubborn set to my jaw. "Well, I'm not letting you stay out here alone," I insist. The thought of him sleeping under the harsh, winter sky is unbearable.

He sighs, a sound that seems to come from the very depths of his chest. "I'll be fine. I've slept outside more times than I can count," he rumbles.

I shake my head, my resolve unwavering. "No. You're staying with me," I say. His brow furrows, a protest forming on his lips, but I cut him off. "I insist."

A moment of silence stretches between us, the tension palpable. Then, an idea strikes me. A sure way to lighten the mood and make him feel better, I believe. "I'll make you something special for dinner," I offer, my tone light.

Thrag raises an eyebrow. "Special?" he echoes, the word sounding foreign on his tongue.

I nod, a grin spreading across my face. "It's an old human recipe. I just need flour," I say with a glint in my eye.

He looks at me, confusion etched into his rugged features. "What is flour?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine curiosity.

I laugh, the sound mingling with the crisp morning air. "You'll see," I promise, linking my arm with his in a gesture of camaraderie and support. "Trust me, you've never tasted anything like this before." My mind is already swirling with the flavors and aromas of the dish I have in mind—a warm, comforting pie filled with the sweetness of the last of the season's berries.

We make our way to the market. The market is bustling with activity, with villagers haggling over root vegetables and bundles of dried herbs. I lead Thrag to the stall of an elderly woman known for her extensive knowledge of ingredients.

"Good morning, Eunice," I call out, my breath forming a small cloud in the chilly air.

Eunice looks up from her wares, her eyes narrowing as she spots Thrag looming behind me. She clutches her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her lips pressing into a thin line. "What brings you here, Claire? And with an orc, no less," she asks skeptically.

I ignore the disapproval in her voice, my focus solely on the task at hand. "I'm looking for flour, Eunice. Do you have any?" I ask, hopeful.

She shakes her head, her gaze flickering briefly to Thrag before returning to me. "Flour? That's an old-world ingredient, dear. No one's used flour in years," she replies.

My heart sinks, but I refuse to let my disappointment show. "Alright, thank you anyway, Eunice," I say politely.

As we walk away, Thrag's heavy hand lands on my shoulder. "Really, what is this flour?" he asks, his deep voice cutting through the buzz of the market.

I let out a soft chuckle, explaining, "It's a powder made from grinding grains. It's the base for so many human dishes. Bread, cakes, pies..."

Thrag's brow furrows. "I've never heard of such things," he mutters.

I nod, a plan already forming in my mind. "That's because they're from a time long past," I say fondly.

We leave the market, our steady journey taking us deeper into the settlement. I point out various landmarks to Thrag—the old well, the village smithy, the remnants of a once-magnificent stone fountain that now stands dry and weathered. With each delicate step, I feel our connection deepening, the walls between us slowly crumbling away.

As we walk, I can't help but marvel at the contrast between us. Thrag, with his towering stature and battle-scarred skin, is the embodiment of strength and resilience. And yet, despite his fearsome exterior, there's a gentleness in his eyes when he looks at me—a softness that hints at the kindness hidden beneath his gruff demeanor.

I find myself speaking more freely, sharing stories of my childhood, of the world before it was torn apart by war and destruction. Thrag listens intently, his eyes reflecting a quiet longing for a time he never got to experience.