I creep back to his sleeping form. He is so massive, a fallen mountain.
His hand, the one that clutched the furs, is curled now, his black claws resting against his palm.
Gently, my hands trembling so hard I can barely function, I uncurl his fingers. They are so big. So warm. The hands that held me. The hands that fought for me. The hands that called me a star.
I press the small, wooden star into his palm.
A trade.
A life for a life. A gift for a gift.
I lean down. I kiss his scarred hand, the calloused skin that held my face, that saved my life.
"I love you," I say. The words are a ghost, stolen by the hum of the magic.
"Live for me, Threk. Be free."
I stand.
I turn.
And I run.
My bare feet are silent on the glowing, soft moss. I run away from the nest, away from him, toward the center of the cavern.
I run toward the murals. Toward the light.
The humming grows louder, stronger. It sinks into my bones, pulling at my very center. It welcomes me. It knows why I am here. It is hungry.
I stop. I stand directly beneath the frescoes of the Orc rising.
The light in the cavern changes. It brightens. The glowing, green moss flares, and a new light, a pearlescent, white light, begins to swirl around my feet. It rises like mist, a soft, cool vortex.
My terror is gone. My guilt is gone.
There is only peace.
This is right. This is my purpose. My penance. My end.
I clench my fists at my sides.
I close my eyes and lift my face to the swirling, growing light.
"Take me!" I shout, my voice ringing clear and strong in the humming cavern. "A life, willingly given! Restore what was lost! Take me!"
25
THREK
Iam warm, buried in a deep, healing sleep. It is a good sleep, a rest my body has been screaming for. But something is wrong.
The place beside me is cold.
The small, soft, warm weight that had been curled against my chest, the body I had held even in sleep, is gone.
My eyes snap open.
The glowing, green cavern is quiet, lit only by the faint, pulsing moss and the red embers of the fire I built.
