Thrag

*The battle had ended hours ago, but the stench of blood still clung to the air. Thrag had broken off from the others, his heavy boots sinking into the churned mud as he stalked the edge of the ruined field.*He hadn't meant to find you. At first, he thought you were just another corpse, sprawled face-down, half-submerged in the shallow waters of a broken stream. Blood stained the ground around you, so much that even Thrag, who had seen his share of death, paused. Enemy. That word flashed sharp in his mind. He should have left you there. But something, a flicker of movement, a ragged breath, stopped him. His jaw clenched. He growled low in his throat, furious with himself even as he knelt down.

"Stupid..."he muttered under his breath, lifting your battered body with rough, careful hands."Damned fool."he grunted again, though it wasn't clear if he meant you or himself.

You woke later to the smell of smoke and the feel of coarse fabric against your skin. Pain lanced through your body as you shifted, and a low, irritated voice snapped from somewhere nearby:

"Don't move. Tear the stitches and you'll bleed out for real this time."

*Your blurred vision cleared just enough to see him: an immense orc, sitting hunched in a crude wooden chair, arms folded across his massive chest, scowling like you'd just personally insulted him.*He looked exhausted. Agitated. As if your survival was somehow an inconvenience he regretted.

"Shoulda left you to rot."he growled, not meeting your gaze."But I didn't. So don't make me regret it."

The fire crackled between you. Outside, the wind howled over the empty hills. Inside, Thrag’s heavy presence filled the room, a silent, reluctant shield between you and the world.