5. Claire

5

CLAIRE

T he darkness of the forest presses in around me. My breath comes out in misty clouds, the cold seeping through my layers of worn clothing. I'm following a massive orc—a creature of nightmares—deeper into the wilderness, away from the relative safety of my settlement. I can't shake the irony of it all.

"I really hope you know where you're going," I say, my voice a weak echo in the vast expanse of trees. The orc doesn't respond, his heavy boots leaving deep impressions in the snow.

I hurry to keep up, my legs aching with the effort. "Because I sure don't," I add, partly to fill the silence, partly because I'm terrified of being lost and alone forever.

He stops abruptly, and I nearly crash into him. He turns, his amber eyes glinting in the moonlight that filters through the canopy. "Quiet," he growls, the single word vibrating with an authority I can't ignore.

I nod, chastened, and we continue in silence. The trees creak and groan around us. Their icy branches sway in a wind that seems to grow colder by the minute. I clutch my arms tighter, trying to ward off the chill that seems to have settled into my bones.

As we walk, I find myself staring at his back, at the way his muscles ripple beneath his armor. There's a grace to his movements that's at odds with his monstrous size. "You're not what I expected," I blurt out, then immediately regret my words. What was I thinking, provoking a creature that could snap me in half without breaking a sweat?

But he doesn't react aggressively. Instead, he glances over his shoulder, a flicker of curiosity—or maybe it's confusion—crossing his features.

He doesn't respond, and we lapse into silence once more. The moon hangs heavy in the sky, its light casting an eerie glow on the landscape. I can't tell how long we've been walking, but my feet are numb, and my eyelids are growing heavy.

The cold bites at my cheeks as I scramble to keep pace with the orc striding ahead. My breath comes in ragged puffs. But I can't help but nervously ramble, words tumbling from my lips like a stream overflowing its banks.

"Really, I can't thank you enough," I say, my voice a thread of sound against the vastness of the night. "Back there, with those orcs... I thought that was it for me. But you... you just appeared out of nowhere."

He doesn't break stride, his heavy boots crunching through the snow with an unyielding rhythm. The silence stretches between us, as vast and forbidding as the frozen landscape.

I quicken my pace, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. "I'm Claire, by the way," I continue, desperate to fill the void. "I live in a settlement not far from here. Or at least, I thought I knew this land like the back of my hand, but after tonight..."

His silence is a wall, impenetrable and daunting. I'm talking to myself, but I can't seem to stop. I tell him about the settlement, about the children and their wide-eyed wonder during our lessons. I speak of hope and humanity, of the threads that bind us together in the face of adversity.

Suddenly, my boots slip on a patch of ice, and I stumble, landing hard on my knees. Pain lances up my legs, a stark reminder of my vulnerability. "Ouch!" I wince, trying to push myself up, but the slick ground betrays me.

He stops, his glowing amber eyes narrowing as he turns to watch me struggle. His presence is an overwhelming force. I expect a command, a gruff dismissal of my clumsiness, but instead, his massive hand curls around my arm with surprising gentleness.

"Keep up," he says, his voice a low rumble. "It's dangerous here at night. By the way, my name’s Thrag."

I blink up at him, startled by the concern laced within his stern warning. "I—thank you, Thrag. Again," I mutter nervously. My cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude as he pulls me to my feet with ease.

We resume our trek up a winding slope. I can't help but steal glances at him as we walk. His scars are a map of his past, each line evidence of battles fought and survived. There's a nobility in the set of his jaw, a quiet strength that sets him apart from the orcs I've known.

When we finally reach the top of the slope, the wind howls around us. He points to a small cave a short distance away, its entrance a dark maw against the pale expanse of rock and snow.

"There," he says, and I nod, relief washing over me like a wave. The cave promises shelter, a respite from the relentless cold.

As we approach the cave, I notice the way his body tenses, his eyes scanning the surroundings with predatory precision. He's a warrior, honed by conflict and shaped by loss, I'm guessing. Yet, there's a weariness in his gaze, a hint of the burdens he must carry.

Inside the cave, the air is cool and still. He starts a fire with practiced ease, the flames casting a warm glow on the rough stone walls. I huddle close to the fire, grateful for its heat.

"You're not like the others, are you?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He grunts, his attention focused on the fire. "I am an orc," he rumbles.

"Yes, but you're different. You saved me when you didn’t have to," I say softly.

He turns to look at me, his amber eyes reflecting the flickering flames. "Maybe I'm just tired of seeing death," he growls.

His words hang in the air, a stark admission of his own inner turmoil. I realize then that he is a mystery wrapped in a riddle, a being caught between two worlds. And as the fire crackles and the night deepens, I find myself wanting to understand the enigma that he is.