The flame wall roared behind him, a towering inferno that marked the borders of their crumbling camp. Urak stood at its edge, arms crossed, the fire's reflection dancing in his cold, savage eyes. Around him, the tribe had fallen into chaos.
Some orcs ignored him, too broken to care anymore. Others — the weak, the desperate — flocked to his lackeys, now self-proclaimed "rulers" of the food stores. They hoarded what little remained, forcing others to grovel and beg for scraps like dogs.
Urak smiled to himself.
Finally.
Finally, they understood who held power.
The air shifted.
Boots crunched against the dusty earth behind him. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Are you happy now?" growled a low, feminine voice. "You sent one of our strongest to die in the cursed forest."
Urak turned lazily, a smug grin spreading across his thick jaw.
