Season of the Orc

Ten

Calla

"Stupid fucking orc," I growl out as I try and drag Brunks ass into the partly built house. I get him a few feet before my arms all but give out and I drop him. He groans weakly, rivers of blood running from him.

"Stay," I tell him as I go to my horse and riffle in my bags for the Dragonfire. The small jar is half empty and I sigh, we'd have to find a supplier soon.

If there even was a we anymore.

Pouring a small amount onto a large pile of timber, I strike my fire maker and it immediately goes up in flames, dousing the surrounding area in light. "Woah," I whisper in awe at the sight of the Wilderbeast.

I'd seen them before, but never this close. Out of all the monsters Brunk and I have killed, this one was a first. It was easily double the size of my horse, covered in fur like a shaggy dog and had the head of an ox.

It was a miracle that Brunk was even alive. While I had complete faith in both of our abilities, if we had fought this beast together, we would have died together. The only reason it was dead and not us was because I had surprised it.

Going back to Brunk, a new wave of worry washes over me. His chest looks like an angry butcher got a little too cleaver happy. Strips of his skin were hanging loose, his red muscle glistens in the firelight.

He needed a healer, or better yet a witch, but he'd be dead by the time we got there. "Fuck you Brunk," I tell him, more worried then angry. "Why'd you have to get yourself all busted up? You know I'm no good as a healer."

Digging in another bag, I pull out the kit I use to repair my saddle. It was nothing more then a large needle and a spool of leather thread, but it would have to do.

Looking down at his chest, there was so much blood that I couldn't tell what was skin and what was muscle. Trying to smooth his skin down as best as I could, I pick up the needle.

As the first stitch goes through his skin, Brunk thrashes wildly. "Easy big boy," I order as I try and hold him down. For someone who was so close to death he sure had a big reserve of strength. The more I try and calm him, the lord he thrashes. "Sorry Brunk," I tell him as I punch him on the orc sweet spot. He immediately stops moving and if it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest, I'd worry that I'd killed him.

Going back to my sewing, it takes all night to get all of his wounds closed. As the first rays of dawn hit us, I start to slather on what's left of our healing ointment on his chest. "This better work," I say to him. "It's not meant for orcs but the witch did say it could aid in your healing if you ever needed it." I glance up at his pale face and back to his chest, "of course I don't think this is what she meant."

Once I'm done, all that's left to do is wait.