I slam my fist on the ground. NO!
I point at the scratches. I point at her.
"No!" I roar. My voice is a broken, cracking thing. "NO!"
She flinches. Her eyes are wide with shock. "Threk, you don't understand?—"
"I understand!" I shout. I draw in the dirt with my claw. The symbol. Our symbol.
The circle.
I stab my claw in the center. I point at her. I point at myself. I point at the circle.
"Us!"
I look at the wall. At the picture of the creature. The man she wants me to be.
I roar in disgust. I grab a handful of mud and hurl it at the wall, smearing the image.
"No Orc!" I shout, hitting my own chest. "No cure! This... Us! Only Us!"
I do not care about being an Orc. I do not care about Larda. I do not care what I am.
I only care that she is.
I cannot lose her.
"Threk... please..." she sobs. "It's my wish. My gift. For you! To be free!"
"You are free!" I roar, my words clumsy and thick with panic. "I am free with you! Not this! This is magic! Magic hurts! Magic... TAKES!"
I grab her arm. I haul her to her feet. "We go. Now."
I drag her toward the shimmering light, toward the portal. We will go back to where we came from. I would rather face Larda and all his soldiers than stay one more second in this place that wants to eat her soul.
"No!" she screams, digging in her heels. She is small, but she is strong. "Threk, stop! You're hurt! We are tired! We cannot run!"
She is stubborn. She is fighting me.
"This place is safe!" she cries, pulling against my grip. "The elves are not here! We can rest! Just for tonight! We can... we can rest. Please."
I stop. I stare at her.
She is panting. Her face is pale with exhaustion. Her body is weak.
She is right. My leg is a fire of agony. I can barely stand. We cannot run.
But her scent...
I sniff her, pulling her close.
Her scent is still wrong. It is full of lies.
She is pretending. She wants me to rest. She wants me to sleep.
So she can do it.
A cold, black terror fills my heart.
