3. Claire

3

CLAIRE

T he snow crunches beneath my boots as I lead the small band of women from our settlement. We venture deep into the forest to gather the necessary herbs by the river. My breath mists in the frigid air as I soon crouch by the half-frozen river. My fingers brush against clusters of moonshade mushrooms nestled in the damp earth. Their silvery caps peek through patches of moss on the rocky ledges. The earthy scent of moss and decay fills my nostrils, grounding me in the present moment.

But I can't shake the feeling of being watched. Glancing over my shoulder, I ensure the other women are nearby, their baskets slowly filling with the bounty of the forest.

A sudden, guttural roar shatters the quiet. My heart lodges in my throat as I spin around, locking eyes with one of the orcs emerging from the shadows of the trees. His hulking form blocks out what little sunlight manages to pierce the gloom. Panic surges through me, adrenaline lending speed to my limbs as I grab my basket and run.

The forest becomes a blur of bark and branch as I weave through the trees, the screams of the other women echoing in my ears. I'm no stranger to fear, but this—this is pure terror. A root catches my foot, and I go down hard, the breath knocked from my lungs. Before I can scramble to my feet, a massive hand grips my arm, the touch like ice through my coat.

"Quiet," the orc snarls, his breath hot and rancid against my skin. His grip tightens, the threat clear in his eyes. "Or it'll be the last sound you ever make."

I'm soon dragged through the underbrush, my struggles earning me nothing but a sharper pain in my arm. The orc camp comes into view, a makeshift ring of filthy furs and the skeletal remains of whatever they've managed to hunt. Other women from our group are already here, their eyes wide with fear. They chain me to the others, my heart pounding wildly as I test the strength of the rust-worn bonds.

As I sit there, the reality of our situation sinks in. We're captives, pawns in a game we never asked to play. I glance at the women beside me. Their faces are a mixture of despair and defiance. But I refuse to let fear consume me. I have to get out of here, for their sakes as much as my own.

I lean in closer to the woman chained next to me, her eyes darting nervously to the orcs pacing around the camp. "We need to find a way to escape," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

She nods, her gaze flickering to the orc guarding us. "They won't keep us alive for long," she murmurs back. "We have to act soon."

I clench my jaw, my mind racing with potential plans. I have to be strong, not just for myself, but for the other women.

Later that night, the firelight flickers across the faces of the orcs, casting their grotesque features into sharper focus. Their drunken laughter grates against my raw nerves as I work at the rusty old chains. My fingers ache with the cold, the metal biting into my skin, but the thought of freedom fuels my determination. A snap soon echoes in my ears, and the eroded manacle falls away with a thud that seems too loud in the noisiness of their revelry.

I glance at the other women, their eyes wide with fear and a flicker of something that looks like hope. "We have to go," I whisper urgently, my voice barely above a breath. "Now, while they're distracted."

But they don't move, rooted to the spot by terror. "They'll catch us," one of them whispers back, her voice trembling. "They'll kill us."

Frustration and desperation war within me. I can't force them to come. I can't carry them all on my back. "Please," I beg, tears stinging my eyes. "We can't stay here."

Their silence is my answer. I swallow hard, my throat tight with unshed tears. I can't save them if they won't save themselves. With a final, lingering look, I slip away into the darkness, the icy air searing my lungs.

I've barely made it to the edge of the camp when the roar of an orc rips through the night. My heart leaps into my throat as I break into a run, the crunch of snow beneath my boots thunderous in my ears. I dare not look back, knowing full well what I'll see—the enraged faces of my captors as they give chase.

The forest is a labyrinth of shadows and trees, and I navigate it by memory and sheer will. Branches whip at my face, leaving stinging trails across my cheeks, but I don't slow down. I can't slow down. Behind me, the orcs bellow, their heavy footfalls growing ever closer.

I burst through a thicket of brambles and my coat snags on the thorns. I tear it free, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The locket around my neck bounces against my chest, a constant reminder of the life I'm fighting for.

The pursuit is relentless. Their snarls echo off the trees behind me. I push myself harder, my legs burning with the effort. I can't outrun them—I know that. But I can outsmart them.

I veer sharply to the right. My boots skid on a patch of ice, but I manage to stay upright. I can hear them now, their labored breaths and the crunch of snow growing louder with every passing second.

Darting behind a stand of pines, I press my back against the rough bark. My heart pounds like a drum in my chest. I close my eyes, willing my body to become one with the forest, to blend into the night.

The orcs rush past my hiding spot, their movements clumsy and loud. I hold my breath and count to ten before I dare to move again.