31. Thrag

31

THRAG

T he dawn greets me with the sound of laughter echoing through the cave—a sound that's become more frequent since I chose to cast my lot with these humans. The air is rich with the scent of cooking meat, a reminder of the beast I felled to feed this settlement. My body protests as I rise, the exertions of the past days etched into my muscles, but the ache is a welcome one. It is proof of my purpose, my place among these people.

I step outside, the chill of the morning nipping at my skin. The settlement is alive with activity, men and women working together to prepare for the coming celebration. Claire has spoken of it often—Christmas, a time of giving and joy in the human world. I still don't quite grasp the concept, but seeing the smiles on their faces, I find myself wanting to understand.

"Thrag!" someone shouts. One of the men, a burly fellow named Gareth, waves me over. He's holding a bundle of wood and twine, a confused smile on his face. "Come on. We're making gifts for tonight," he says.

I tilt my head, the word 'gifts' stirring a memory of Claire's voice. "Gifts? For what purpose?" I ask.

The men chuckle. "For Christmas Eve, of course! You've been here long enough—don't tell me Claire hasn't explained it to you," one says.

I grunt. "She mentioned it," I say gruffly. "But the meaning is unclear."

They guide me to a makeshift workstation, where an array of tools and supplies are spread out. "Pick something. Make something with your own hands," Gareth urges. "It's tradition. Show someone you care."

My gaze falls upon a pile of wood, and an idea takes root. My hands, more accustomed to the weight of an axe than the delicate touch of a carver, hesitate for a moment before selecting a piece of smooth, pale wood. In my mind's eye, I see Claire—her warm smile, the gentle curve of her cheek, the light in her eyes.

As my rough hands work the wood, the men exchange glances, their surprise evident. One leans over, a grin spreading across his face. "Looks like someone has someone special in mind," he muses.

I ignore the teasing, focusing instead on the task at hand. The wood yields to my touch, revealing the shape of Claire hidden within. Hours pass, as I pour my heart into the figurine.

Finally, the figure of Claire emerges from the wood—a small, imperfect representation of the woman who has come to mean more to me than I ever thought possible. The men gather around, their faces lighting up with astonishment.

"That's incredible," Gareth murmurs, picking up the figurine with a gentleness that surprises me. "You've got a talent there, big guy."

I grunt, feeling a flush of pride warm my chest. For the first time in a long time, I feel a sense of belonging, of camaraderie. The men laugh and joke with me, their initial wariness replaced by a grudging respect and acceptance.

As I show them how to carve, offering advice and demonstrating techniques, I can't help but marvel at the path my life has taken. Once a solitary wanderer, I am now part of something greater—a community, a family. And at the heart of it all is Claire, the human who has taught me that even an orc can find a place among those he once considered enemies.

As the day progresses, the cave hums with the energy of preparation. Women bustle about, their hands skilled in the art of turning limited provisions into a feast. Laughter rings out, a sound I've grown accustomed to, and for a moment, I allow myself to feel a part of it all. This... is Christmas? The tradition remains foreign to me, yet seeing the joy it brings to their faces kindles something warm within me.

I clutch the small wooden figurine in my hand. It's a crude representation of Claire, her likeness captured in the grain of the wood. My first gift, fashioned with my own hands.

As evening falls, the villagers gather near the central fire, their faces aglow with anticipation. I scan the crowd for Claire, my heart pounding in a way that's become alarmingly familiar. Her laughter rises above the din, and I spot her near the back. She turns, her warm brown eyes meeting mine, and the world seems to shrink to the space between us.

I take a step toward her, ready to present my gift, when a sudden snap echoes through the cave, followed by the low rumble of movement from somewhere outside. The laughter dies, replaced by a heavy silence that chills my blood.

Gareth stands, his face ashen. "The traps... they've been triggered," he says, his voice filled with panic.

My stomach tightens. "Stay here," I command, my voice echoing through the cave. "I'll see what's happening."

I charge into the darkness, my breath forming clouds in the frigid air. As I approach the edge of our hidden sanctuary, I find the traps in disarray—a clear sign of intrusion. My mind races. Could it be a wild beast? But deep down, I know the chances are slim. The traps are designed to deter more than just the average predator.

The crunch of snow under heavy boots alerts me to their presence, and I quickly dart behind a large tree. My keen eyes soon spot the source of the intrusion. Up the far hillside is a group of Icefang orcs—their icy blue skin a stark contrast against the white landscape. My blood boils at the sight. How did they find us? This place was a secret, concealed by both magic and the natural cloak of the cliffs.

"Betrayal," the word slips softly from my lips, a harsh whisper lost in the wind. Someone must have led them here. The realization twists like a dagger in my gut. Trust is a luxury I can ill afford, yet it seems I've been too generous with it.