Selene and the children walked through a sun-dappled field, their baskets ready for gathering herbs. The morning air was crisp and sweet, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere of the camp. Rory, alongside Livy and Enzo, followed Selene's lead, her voice a calm guide as she pointed out various plants.
"This is feverfew," she said, showing them a small, white-petaled flower. "It helps with headaches and fever." The children nodded, their eyes wide with concentration as they carefully tucked the herbs into their baskets. Selene had learned the names of the plants from the other healers at camp, surprising them each time she returned with a rare one—her natural instincts for finding them proving to be a gift in itself.
"Look! I'm a warrior!" Enzo shouted, waving a short stick like a sword.
"Careful with your sword, brave knight," Selene teased, smiling, "or it might cut the herbs."
The children laughed, and Rory joined in, shaking his head at Enzo's antics. The field echoed with their voices, a melody of joy threading through the morning air. Rory crouched down to inspect a cluster of lavender, inhaling its calming scent. Livy giggled, brushing her fingers over the stalks, while Enzo poked at a clump of moss, making small jokes about "forest monsters hiding beneath."
A sudden movement caught Rory's eye—a small rabbit darting from the bushes. His face lit up. "Aha! A wild rabbit!" he cried, chasing after it with unbridled enthusiasm. Livy clutched her basket and squealed, trying to keep up, while Enzo followed, hopping and tripping over clumps of grass. Rory's laughter rang across the open field, light and infectious.
When he finally stopped, breathless and grinning, he still felt a familiar pang of sadness. The joy was real, but it was fragile, unable to completely fill the hole in his heart. He sat down in the grass, watching the clouds drift by, a quiet melancholy settling over him. He missed his moms. He missed their shared laughter, their simple presence. He missed the feeling of them being there, a constant source of comfort and love.
Selene found him a few moments later, sitting alone. She didn't say anything, just sat down beside him, her silence a gentle comfort. She placed a small, purple flower in his hand.
"This is forget-me-not," she said softly. "It doesn't help with anything, but it's beautiful."
Rory looked at the flower, then at Selene. The ache in his heart was still there, but it felt a little less heavy. He wasn't running from his pain anymore; he was just learning to live with it, one quiet, beautiful moment at a time.
Elsewhere, Enzo had found a small frog, cupping it carefully in his hands. Livy screamed, scrambling backward.
"Get it away from me!" she yelled, her voice cutting across the field. Rory jumped up, sprinting toward the commotion. He saw Enzo proudly holding the frog up—and then it leapt from his grasp, disappearing into the tall grass. Rory and Enzo immediately dropped to their knees, their hands sifting frantically through the weeds, laughing and squealing as they tried to catch the slippery creature.
Selene's laughter joined theirs, light and melodic, carrying across the field. "Gentle, gentle, remember the frog is fragile!" she called.
For a moment, the field was alive with pure, carefree laughter, the tension of the camp far away. Rory felt the pull of happiness in his chest, a fragile, fleeting relief from his grief.
But the serenity didn't last. Suddenly, a low, guttural roar echoed through the field. Rory's eyes widened as a hulking orc stomped out from the treeline, its massive frame blotting out sunlight.
"Orc! Run! Livy! Selene!" Rory shouted, grabbing Enzo and shoving him toward safety.
Selene's head snapped up at Rory's terrified cry. She saw the children frozen in panic, the towering shape of the orc emerging from the treeline. Without hesitation, she ran toward them.
"Back to camp! All of you, now!" she yelled, her voice a sharp command.
Rory, still holding on to Enzo, didn't need to be told twice. He pulled Enzo along, scrambling back toward the camp. Livy, meanwhile, was paralyzed with fear, her eyes wide with tears.
Selene reached Livy first, pulling her along. The orc roared, its club raised, but Selene ignored it, her eyes fixed on the children. "Keep running!" she yelled, shoving Livy forward.
As the children sprinted for safety, Selene turned to face the monster. She had no sword, no shield, only her healing hands. She held them up, not as a weapon, but as a desperate plea for time. The orc lumbered toward her, its breath a foul stench in the air.
Suddenly, a smaller orc appeared from behind the first one, its movements quick and erratic. It snarled, a low, rasping sound, and shoved the larger orc in a fit of territorial rage. The two beasts began to squabble, pushing and shoving, their guttural roars filling the air, momentarily forgetting their prey. The distraction was all Selene needed. She turned and ran, sprinting toward the children as fast as she could.
Livy stumbled and scraped her knees, crying out in pain. The sound cut through the air, stopping the two orcs' scuffle. They both turned, their beady eyes fixing on the helpless child. Selene bravely stepped in front of Livy, shielding her body as best she could. The larger orc roared and, with a brutal sweep of its arm, smacked Selene to the side. She was thrown backward, hitting a tree, a branch cracking into her stomach. She lay there, unmoving.
Panic seized Rory, but he quickly fought it down. His mind flashed back to when the General had saved him—she had targeted the eye. Thinking quickly, he grabbed a stone and his slingshot, remembering her lesson. He aimed for the largest orc's eye, the one that had just struck down Selene.
The first stone flew true, hitting the larger orc square in the eye. The beast roared in pain and fury, a high-pitched shriek that made the ground tremble. It dropped its club, its hands going to its face as it stumbled blindly.
Rory, fueled by adrenaline, quickly reloaded. The second orc, seeing its companion disabled, turned its attention to Rory and the other children. It charged, its mouth open in a savage roar. Rory took aim, but his hand trembled, and the stone missed the eye. The orc didn't even flinch.
Thinking quickly, Rory changed his target. He pulled back the slingshot and aimed for the orc's open mouth. He released the stone, and it flew with a sharp thwip, lodging itself deep in the orc's throat. The creature sputtered and choked, clawing at its neck, its roar turning into a gurgling wheeze. It stumbled, then fell to the ground, its body convulsing before finally going still.
Rory blinked in disbelief, looking from his slingshot to the dead orc, and then back to the slingshot in his hand. He had done it. This wasn't a toy; it was a powerful tool. The General was right.
He was snapped out of his daze by Enzo's panicked voice. "Help Livy!"
The first orc, though half-blind and still shrieking in pain, was now charging toward them, its fury a palpable thing.