The battle blurred before her eyes. Bursts of flame from the great cavernous mouths of the dragons flickered bright and red in her unfocused vision. Dark, fuzzy shapes moved across the battlefield, some falling, some causing others to fall, and some standing lonely and forlorn, their cries of grief at the loss of a companion competing with the loud clashing of sword upon sword and the pained moans of the wounded and the dying.

She clutched her sword tightly in her bloodied hand, willing the pain to subside, willing herself to keep going, not to give up yet… She could not let this battle be lost. She, the reputed Githnark Elfslayer, would never admit defeat – as true as she was princess of the Kingdom of Orcs!

But it was no use. She hardly felt the impact of the ground as she fell. Nothing was as great as the pain penetrating her side, or the loud 'thump-thump', 'thump-thump' of her heartbeat which she knew would not last for much longer. It was the end. Githnark couldn't change that, however much she hated it. She would die a loser's death, pierced by an elf's sword, left behind as crow feed to be forgotten by future generations – if the elves even allowed future generations of orcs to exist.

The stench of death was all around her, the stink of blood and rotting, accompanied by the wafts of smoke from the dragons' fire. From the ground, the dead looked even more frightening – it was as if they were all staring at her with their wide eyes, calling her, reaching out to her with their cold hands.

Suddenly, out of the burning pain and freezing fear clutching at her heart like cruel claws, Githnark found herself wishing, for the first time in her life, that she could have a mother, a real mother like the elves had, like even the orcs' dragon allies had; a real mother who could soothe her, and sing to her, and hold her tight, letting her cry herself out as she had never done in her entire life. Githnark had never had a mother. Like all orcs, she had been brought up by another fierce, cruel warrior, who beat into her from the day of her birth what it meant to be an orc princess.

Orcs had no friends. Orcs didn't need love; they didn't believe in love. They believed in themselves, in doing what was best for themselves alone. But was that of any use when they were dying and in pain, lost and alone in a sea of fear?

Githnark was closer than she had ever been to crying. The panic only made her pain worse. Even though she knew that no one would ever hear in the midst of the noisy battlefield, she cried out, "Oh, help me… somebody, just help!"

And then, she heard it: a voice, quiet and whispering, but as clear as early dew and fresh as clean spring water. "I am here. I can help."

The sound of the voice sent a shudder through Githnark's body. It was like the sound of the wind on a cool and quiet evening, like the sound of rushing waves on the shore of the sea, and like a powerful earthquake tearing the ground apart. It was the sound Githnark would associate with light, if light had a sound.

"Who are you?" she asked, trying to sit up and look around for the speaker. But the pain overwhelmed her again, and she fell back to the ground.

"Hush. Be still," the voice replied. It was the voice of neither woman nor man, neither elf nor orc. It was so quiet, and yet so powerful – somehow unearthly…

"Who are you?" Githnark asked again. "Show yourself! Are you friend or foe?" She reached for her sword, which lay close by.

"Be still," the voice simply said. "Trust in me. I shall help you. Just trust in me."

"How can I trust a stranger in the midst of battle?" Githnark snorted. "Which side are you on?"

There was a moment's silence. Then the voice whispered. "Sides are unimportant to me in a battle. I know of elves who have died tonight, leaving families behind that will fall to ruin without them. I have seen dragon mothers remembering the hatchlings they will never see again. I can see the children of the dwarves who were slain tonight, starving and emaciated, and I know that without their fathers, their hunger shall be even greater than now…"

"And you can see unfeeling orcs, killing all those people, feeling happy about it, and getting their punishment. Yeah, yeah, I get your point!" Githnark said angrily.

"That is not true," the voice said quietly. "Even though you may pretend not to have feelings, and have convinced even yourself that you have none, I know that, though hidden deep inside, your emotions are as strong as any other creature's. I was there when you found the cockroach in your tent, many years ago. You had never loved anything as dearly as you loved that one other living creature that shared your hated home with you. I was there when your war trainer discovered it. I felt the pain in your heart as he trod on it and killed it, I saw your tears as he beat you and made you repeat, 'I shall never love again'. Do you remember it, Githnark?

"I was there when you made your first kill. It was a girl younger than yourself. She was singing and playing on a swing. I felt your desire to go and join her in her game, I felt your wish to make friends. And I was there as you followed your trainer's command and drove your sword through her. And I was the only one who saw the tears in your eyes, the tears of shame and regret."

"I know no shame. An orc never regrets her actions!" Githnark cried defiantly.

"Be still. The pain will be greater if you agitate yourself," the voice murmured. "You have been taught that the orc is heartless and unfeeling, yet if you did not feel total fear and dejection, you would never have called me and I would not be here."

"Why would you help me anyway?" Githnark asked. "You side with all the poor little innocent people, don't you? How can you help an orc, then? You know I deserve to die, I'm sure you're glad to see every single orc go, just like everyone else!"

"I help those who need me," the voice replied, "for why should I spend time with those who are already perfect? A doctor is there for the sick, not just the healthy. I would give anything, pay any price, to have everyone living together happily and in peace, and to help people like you." The voice paused for a while before adding softly, "Even my life."

"You speak in too many riddles!" Githnark tried once more to sit up and see the stranger, but she immediately fell back in pain. "How are you going to help me if I can't even see you? There's no one there!"

The voice said nothing for a while. Then, "If I showed myself to you, you would die immediately. Only very few have ever seen my face. But I can help you. Trust in me."

Githnark hesitated. "I have never trusted anyone before," she murmured awkwardly after a while. "I don't know how to trust."

"Look inside your heart, Githnark. It is there, deep down. Everyone, everything, even rocks and stones, even the wind and the clouds, have trust inside them. Otherwise, how would rocks bear to be trod on, the wind to be constantly travelling without stop and the clouds to follow wherever the wind takes them? Be still, close your eyes. And trust in me."

But Githnark didn't want to close her eyes. She was filled with a panic that she would drift off into death if she did, and, like all orcs, she feared death above all else, that empty hole full of nothingness that she couldn't understand and couldn't counter with a sword.

"Trust in me," the voice whispered. "I can bring you life. I can save you, if only you trust in me." A silken breeze caressed Githnark's face, tugging at her heavy eyelids. The voice's words echoed in the air all around her. Githnark took a deep, shuddering breath, the pain in her side burning worse than ever. She closed her eyes.

---

The light was at first so blinding that she had to immediately close her eyes again. "Where am I?" she murmured. Her throat felt so terribly dry… "What's happened? Am I dead?" She waited for the voice, but it had gone, disappeared.

"Shh!" This was another voice, a stranger's voice.

Githnark fluttered open her eyes. The first thing she saw was the face of a little girl, brown-eyed and raven-haired and as pretty as only an elf could be at her age. She was busily rolling up bandages, blowing strands of unruly hair out of her face every few seconds. The bright room was filled with the scent of flowers and the chirping of birds, and the light flowing in through a high window and onto Githnark's bed somehow gave her a strange feeling she had never had before. Was it hope?

"Where am I? How did I get here?" she asked again groggily. She found it strange that her first reaction hadn't been to throttle the little elf child or think of turning her into dog food.

"You're in Sucsamad – you know, the city of the Healer Elves," the girl said matter-of-factly. She didn't seem to have even the tiniest bit of fear at talking to a real, live orc warrior. Neither was her voice dripping with hatred. "My father was crossing through the battlefield looking for survivors, and found you there. You were wounded rather badly, I must say. He still can't believe you survived it. In any case, you're the strangest case we've ever met. My father says that when he found you, you looked more peaceful than even a sleeping elf baby! And you had some kind of glow around you…

"It was as if you'd seen the face of God or something."