Page 10 of The Orc Protector's Secret Baby
Reaching a small clearing, I collapse, my chest heaving with exertion and emotion. The tranquility of the forest wraps around me, but it does little to soothe the turmoil in my heart.
Why? Why must I suffer this indignity, this cycle of violence and subjugation? Is it my fate to forever be ground beneath Malamute’s heel, my spirit crushed, my voice silenced?
Despair threatens to swallow me whole, but deep within, a small, fierce spark of determination refuses to be extinguished. No. I will not submit. I will not let his cruelty define me or break me.
Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply, letting the pain and humiliation bleed out of me, replaced by steely resolve. I will endure this, as I always have. I will bide my time, grow stronger, wiser. And when the moment is right, I will seize my destiny and lead my clan into a new era - one free from the shackles of fear and oppression.
Malamute may have the power now, but his reign of brutality is coming to an end. I will see to that, no matter the cost. This, I vow to the gods, to my people, to myself.
Opening my eyes, I square my shoulders, my steps heavy but my spirit unbroken. I am Cagan, future Chieftain. And I will not be beaten.
5
HAYDEN
Ihate that my only water source borders two clans: Burning Sun and Swordstone. It's risky, but I need to survive. When I first woke up after escaping those monsters, I climbed down the cliff, battered and bruised. I remember how desperate I was for water and food. This place, unfortunately, is the only spot with access to water.
Now, I navigate the jungle like a shadow, always on guard. The leaves rustle with hidden threats, and every snap of a twig makes my heart race. It's a daily fight for survival. The woods are dense, making it easier to hide but also easy to get lost. I keep away from other clans, knowing that they surround this place.
I crouch near the stream, my fierce green eyes scanning the area. No movement except for the lazy drift of the water. My fingers dip into the stream, cool liquid offering a moment of solace. I cup my hands and bring it to my lips, savoring each drop like it's nectar from the gods.
A twig snaps behind me. My body tenses. I whip around, ready to fight or flee.
Nothing but the wind through the trees.
Paranoia keeps me alive. Always has.
I gather some water in an old canteen I've managed to scavenge and move away from the open bank, melting back into the cover of the forest. The Swordstone clan might be relocating—I've heard whispers—but that doesn't mean I'm safe. Trusting orcs isn't an option.
The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows that dance like specters around me. The air thickens with moisture as night approaches; it’ll soon be harder to see threats coming.
My stomach growls angrily. Finding food is another challenge out here. Edible plants are scarce and hunting small beasts isn't always successful. But hunger keeps me sharp, focused on staying alive one more day.
As I tread carefully through the underbrush, every sound amplified by my heightened senses, I remind myself why I fight so hard: there must be something better out there for me—for every human forced into this hellish existence.
I push forward, determined not to let despair claim me.
The stream gurgles, a constant companion in this wilderness. My stomach rumbles, reminding me it's been too long since my last meal. I scan the water, searching for telltale ripples. There. A flash of silver scales.
I fashion a crude spear from a nearby branch, sharpening the end with my makeshift knife. Patience is key. I crouch, muscles tense, waiting for the perfect moment. The fish darts closer. I strike.
Water splashes. The spear misses by inches. Cursing under my breath, I try again. And again. On the fourth attempt, I feel the satisfying resistance of flesh. A decent-sized trout writhes on the end of my spear.
"Dinner," I mutter, allowing myself a small smile.
As I prepare the fish, my ears prick at the sound of rustling leaves. A young deer approaches the stream, unaware of my presence. My heart races. Bigger prey means more food, but it's riskier. I weigh my options, then decide to stick with the fish. Better safe than sorry.
The chill in the air bites at my skin. I gather dry twigs and leaves, arranging them carefully. A few strikes of flint later, a small flame sputters to life. I feed it slowly, mindful of the smoke. Can't risk drawing attention.
The fire crackles softly as I cook the fish. The smell makes my mouth water. It's been so long since I've had a hot meal.
As I eat, I can't help but wonder how long I can keep this up. Surviving day to day, always on edge. But what choice do I have? The alternative... I push those thoughts away. Focus on now. On staying alive.
The fire dies down to embers. I should head into the small cave I use as shelter soon, before the darkness provides too much protection for nearby predators. But for just a moment, I allow myself to enjoy the warmth, the full belly, the illusion of safety.
My life has boiled down to a simple routine: hunt, cook, eat, bathe, sleep. Repeat. It's not much, but it's mine. No one telling me what to do, no one hurting me. Just me and the wilderness.
Today feels different though. The air's lighter, the forest quieter. No sign of orcs or humans for three whole days. It's... unsettling. I'm not used to this calm.