Skirmish (Bitrayuul): Gratitude

Skirmish (Bitrayuul): Gratitude

Follow along each week for Skirmishes of characters of the Orcblood Legacy Series. These are real events that take place during the story’s timeline but are not detailed in the book.

“He’s awake!” Tormag chirped with excitement as he wrapped his arms around Bitrayuul. “Oh, me boy, I thought ye lost.”

Bitrayuul instinctively returned the hug, though he knew not why it was received. “W-what happened?” As he attempted to sit up, he clutched his shoulder in pain. It felt as if he had taken a hammer to his collarbone and blood had stained over half of his gear. 

“Easy, lad. Easy.” Laying his son’s head gently against the stone, Tormag couldn’t contain his smile. “Ye took quite a beatin’, don’t ye doubt.”

The half-orc’s eyes widened. “Theiran! Is he safe?” He felt a hand press lightly on his chest to calm him and turned his head. In front of him sat a female dwarf, her face touched with tenderness as she smiled at him. Bitrayuul eyed her curiously. “Who are you?”

Offering a soft laugh, the cleric turned to Tormag. “Well, he’s alive. But he doesn’t seem to remember much.” Her voice was edged with the gruff dialect of dwarves but still managed to remain soft. 

“Aye, he’ll be fine,” the commander responded. He placed his hand on her shoulder and his tears began anew. “I can’t thank ye enough, cleric. Me boy owes ye his life.”

Bitrayuul, finally catching on, groaned as he forced himself to sit up slowly. “W-what is your name?”

The cleric smiled at him once more as she slid a finger along her brow to tuck back her dulled hair. “Don’t fret, love. Ye’ll be just fine with time.” With that, she stood and turned to Theiran and the remaining company of dwarves. “Theiran, he should be carried home to rest. Can ye lads handle him?” 

Still awestruck by what had happened—and knowing Bitrayuul deserved no less than their care—each dwarf nodded quickly before moving toward the prone half-orc. Theiran approached the cleric, his grateful expression speaking volumes. 

Before words fell from his mouth, the cleric raised a hand to silence him. “No words are needed, Senator. Bothain chose to spare him. He has earned his right to live.” Her cheeks remained raised with a smile as she spoke, leaving Theiran with nothing left to say. Without another word, the cleric began walking back down the tunnel the way they had come.

As he watched her depart, the old senator could see tell she was weary. The length of her strides had shortened and each step seemed to take a minor toll. Yet still she stood strong, walking with pride. Theiran knew she had spoken the truth—that Bothain had indeed been the one to spare Bitrayuul. However, it was she who bore the sacrifice, it seemed. A cost she must have known would have been paid in return for the half-orc’s life. He turned to Bitrayuul as his companions lifted him onto their shoulders, then to Tormag whose tears of joy proved just how loved the orcish warrior was. Thank ye for savin’ him, Bothain. Ye know he earned it.

Bitrayuul watched Theiran as he joined the company and offered a pained smile. “Glad to see you are safe, Senator.” 

“Aye, lad. Thanks to ye,” Theiran replied, taking the half-orc’s hand in his own. “Thanks to ye.”