Qurrah was already bleeding by the time Harruq found him. He lay curled into a ball with his arms over his face as the bullies kicked and spat, taunting his size, his heritage, his strangeness.

“Orc-shit!” one cried, just before Harruq barged in.

“Get off him!” he screamed, slamming the boy away. His fist caught a second on the chin, and with grim satisfaction he saw blood fly. Before he could try for another, he felt something hard ram into his gut. Rage flooding his veins, he lashed out, his vision a blurred mess of tears and red anger. His punches struck the largest of the boys in the face, splattering blood from his nose and bruising his eyes. Arms pulled at him, blows rained upon him, but Harruq flung them aside.

“Get away from us!” he roared, standing over his wounded brother like a primal being. His breath was slow and labored, and blood ran down the side of his face from a cut he never remembered receiving.

“Your brother’s a freak,” the eldest shouted, still clutching his nose.

“You seen what he did to that rat?” said another, tense and ready to attack if the others moved to join him. “Killed it, then brought it back. He ain’t right.”

“Hurt him again I’ll break your necks,” Harruq growled.

He was younger than them by a year or two, but already a foot taller. The boys spat at him, but even outnumbering him they turned to leave.

“Can’t watch him forever,” said the oldest just before they left. “We’ll do to him what he did to that rat, except no one’s going to bring that orc bastard back.”

Harruq did his best to ignore them. He knelt over his brother, who lay wheezing on his stomach. His face was swollen and bruised, and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth.