7. Claire

7

CLAIRE

T he cavern's ceiling looms above me, craggy and indifferent. Thrag is over against the nearby wall, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. The fire has dwindled to a soft murmur, its glow dancing across the planes of his face, softening the harshness of his scars.

I can't tear my eyes away from the jagged line that mars his throat—a brutal testament to a life steeped in violence. I wonder how many times he's stared death in the face and emerged unbroken. He's a walking contradiction, this orc, fierce and oddly gentle all at once.

"I've taken his bed," I whisper to myself, the guilt gnawing at me. It's a ridiculous thing to fret over, given the circumstances, but I can't shake the feeling that I've wronged him somehow.

I shift on the furs, the rustle of their movement breaking the stillness. Thrag doesn't stir. His features are relaxed in sleep, a stark difference from the perpetual scowl that seems etched upon his brow when awake.

"How do you do it?" I murmur into the quiet. "How do you carry on alone?"

The question hangs unanswered, lost in the shadows that play upon the cave walls. I know that orcs are social creatures, pack animals ruled by the strength of their clans. Thrag, though, is a lone wolf, severed somehow from the ties that bind his kind. The thought sends a pang of sympathy through me.

I draw my knees to my chest, hugging them tightly. The tunic he gave me is oversized, the fabric pooling around my body like a protective cocoon. It smells faintly of him—pine and earth. It's oddly comforting, in a way I never would have expected from an orc.

"I should be afraid," I tell myself. "He's a monster, isn't he? That's what they've always said."

But as I watch him sleep, the word 'monster' feels like a poor fit for him. He's saved me. He's shared his food and his fire, and offered me shelter in a world that's grown increasingly hostile.

My eyelids grow heavy once more, and I let them fall shut. As I drift off to sleep, I can't help but feel safer than I have in a long while.

In the haze of sleep, I dream of Thrag's scarred hands moving with a gentleness along my arm, of his voice—gruff and low—offering words of reassurance. I dream of the impossible—a future where fear and uncertainty aren't constants, where an orc and a human might find common ground.

Morning light slices through the gloom of Thrag's cave, casting everything in a stark, golden hue. I stir from my fitful sleep, the scent of pine and cold stone heavy in the air. Thrag is already up, a dark silhouette etched against the daylight that spills through the cave's entrance.

"The sun is up," he announces, his voice a low rumble, like distant thunder. "You should leave."

I bite my lip, the taste of copper flooding my mouth. My gaze flits across the snow-blanketed landscape outside, the chill seeping into my bones. "I... don't know how to get back to my settlement from here," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm lost."

I step forward, the crunch of my boots on the cave floor echoing in the silence. "Can you help me? Please?" I ask. My plea hangs in the air, fragile and desperate.

Thrag shakes his head, his amber eyes hardening like resin. "I have my own problems. Winter is coming. I need supplies," he rumbles in a low voice.

I swallow the lump that forms in my throat, the urge to fidget with my locket nearly overwhelming. "I can stay and help you for a while," I offer quickly, the words tumbling from my lips in a rush. "I'm good at foraging. And cooking." I pause, my heart pounding against my ribcage. "Please..."

He turns away, his jaw clenched tight. "Go. It's safer for you back at your settlement," he growls firmly.

The finality in his tone sends a pang of sorrow through me. I nod, understanding that his decision is as much for my safety as it is for his solitude. With a heavy heart, I trudge out into the snow, my shoulders slumped under the burden of my own helplessness.

The snow crunches beneath my boots as I walk, each step forming a crater in the pristine white blanket that covers the ground. I can't shake the feeling of Thrag's eyes on my back, watching me until I disappear from view.

I walk for hours, or maybe it's days. Time seems to stretch and warp in the vast expanse of the wilderness. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows that dance across the snow-dusted trees.

A sudden, haunting melody pierces the silence—the distant howl of wolves. My blood runs cold, and I freeze in my tracks, my breath coming out in short, ragged puffs. I turn slowly, my eyes scanning the tree line for any sign of movement.

There, on the crest of a snowy hill, a pack of wolves emerges, their fur bristling against the biting cold. Their eyes are sharp, fixated on me with an eerie intensity. My heart hammers against my ribcage, a frantic drumbeat that echoes in my ears.

I back away slowly, my mind racing with panic. "Think, Claire," I whisper to myself, my breath forming a misty cloud in the frigid air. "What would Thrag do?"

I glance around, searching for something—anything—I can use as a weapon. My hand closes around a sturdy branch half-buried in the snow. I grip it tightly, the bark rough against my palms.

The wolves advance, their movements fluid and sinister. I brandish the branch, my eyes darting between the snarling beasts. "Stay back!" I shout, my voice echoing through the forest.

They keep coming, their growls growing louder with each passing second. I swing the branch wildly, trying to keep them at bay. But I know it's only a matter of time before they overwhelm me.