There was no other way to put it; Laelithra loved the temple grounds. For once, she thought she made the right decision when she chose to go against her father's last wish. Traveling with Geralt had given her her some insight into the war torn world in which they co-existed. Despite Geralt's misjudgment of Viktor's personality, Laelithra felt like he had offered her insight as to the reasons her father was the way he was when he training her.

The sunlight angled downward on the young girl as she balanced on a long, stone beam lining the walk way. From her left and right, the smell of jasmine and cherry blossoms drifted to her. It was strange because the smell had an effect on her; it soothed her thoughts, lulling the fears that gnawed at her insides. She took a deep breath, taking in the pleasant aroma.

Walking along the narrow stone was easy for Laelithra. Many times she would skip quickly, and she would always keep her balance. Her dark eyes stared intently at the thin wall. It was wider than the slim stone walls separating her father's strange gardens.

"Get up and do it again," his cold, penetrating voice echoed in her thoughts.

Her tiny body protested as she lay in the blanket of sweet, mint-smelling ferns. The curled tops tickled her nose, feeling rough against her skin. Bruises covered her small form, making her arms, chest, legs, and stomach appear black. The wooden sword rested a few inches from her prone form. She tried to move and take her place on the cold, hard stone, yet her body refused to move. It lay broken, clinging to the only place that did not hurt.

The old witcher stalked to her and bent down menacingly. "I said get up, foolish girl," he spat out, venomously. She did not have to see his eyes to know the way he looked at her. They would be as hard as steel and penetrating like a barbed arrow-head. His long, gray ponytail trailed over his left shoulder.

Once more, she tried to lift herself from of the ground. She placed her hands on the ground and pushed up. As her arms gave out, she landed face first back in the ferns. Her breath came out in harsh gasps.

"It's easy if you do it right."

The anger built within her as it always did. Wrath was as natural to her as breathing. Emotion flamed in her body, clouding her mind to sound judgments. As fury raged inside her, she gritted her teeth and lifted her head. Her gaze mirrored his, and her jawline stiffened. "If you feed me right, I could do it right." Injustice coated her insides, and defiance burned in her eyes and voice.

"Insolent child," he growled, angrily. She could smell liquor and leather: her father's scent. Many years later, it would remind her of the other male witcher. The old witcher was inches from her back.

The small girl could feel the brush of leather against her leg. Reaching up with a shaking hand, she pushed her hair out of her face. Finally, the agonizing pain overtook her body and cut her as deeply as a knife. A hiss of pain escaped through her clenched teeth.

As his fingers bit into her sides and tore tiny sprigs of the herb from the ground, she refused to show her pain by crying. Her body revolted against the rough handling, each of her nerves screaming out in anguished, as she was placed on the stone wall again.

Her feet gripped the long, slim object, her thighs burning from the effort of holding herself there. For a brief moment, she thought of staying there and disobeying the old witcher. What would be the consequence of going in the house and fixing herself a meal that was not mushrooms? Immediately, her stomach grumbled at the thought of red meat. She could not stop her train of thought. Where did he get the herbs and mushrooms? They did not grow in the wild around their house, she thought.

"Do not think. It is not enough to merely know what is going to happen next. It needs to be instinct, or you will die, child," the older witcher explained, gruffly. He bent down and retrieved the sparring sword from the grass. The old man walked to her and handed her the sword. "You will run along the wall. Once you get to the center, you will execute a half spin. You will do it flawlessly. Don't make me regret taking you, a girl, over your brother."

She gnashed her teeth together and glared into the depths of his blue eyes. Anger roared through her veins. The blood pounded in her ears as she gasped in a deep breath. Red colored her cheeks. "I can do anything that my brother could, or any boy for that matter," she growled, roughly.

Viktor crossed his arms over his leather-clad chest and stared at his daughter. A twisted smile appeared on his ugly face. It would seem that seemed her outburst had pleased him. "Show me, then."

As she stood on the wall, the muscles in her back protested the movement. She reached up, touched a blackened bruise, and winced. Laelithra did not know how much longer she could take her father's training. Her body screamed in agony. Did he seek to kill her? No, her father was preparing her to live in a world where women were valued as property.

Her body shot forward as if it was released from a bow. She raced along the wall with feline grace. Torturous pain shot up her left foot, racing along her leg, yet, the young child had taught herself to ignore such feelings. Her father did not feel such things, and she was determined not to either. Halfway along the wall, she turned around in a half-spin. Once more, anguish erupted into her back. It was accompanied by a stabbing sensation through her left leg and arm this time. She barely heard Viktor tell her to straightened out her stance in the half-spin, or she would have a vulnerability there in the future. The pain consumed her thoughts.

"Again."

Even if she wanted to refuse him, she could not. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. Turning around, she sprinted up the long stone. Her body rebelled against the movement. Yet, she did not heed it. Again, she turned, looked down the wall, and wondered what he hoped to accomplished with her. Laelithra started into a fleche. After she brought her left leg before her right, the young girl took off in a sprint. The wind mingled with her flowing hair and rustling dress.

"Faster. Do it again."

He did not even let her go into her half-spin that time. Clenching her teeth, she advanced to the beginning of the stone wall. She could not be as fast as Viktor. Once more, she raced along the stone. However, the fabric of her dress did not allow her freedom of movement. It confined her, trapping her in its clutches. The dress was a hindrance.

"Again."

Immediately, Laelithra shook her head at the thoughts of her father. She had learned to cope with the fabric of her clothing. Her father was adamant that she was not a boy, and she would not dress like one for their training sessions. After all, things seeking to harm her would not wait while she went to change into something more appropriate for fighting.

She narrowed her eyes, looking once more at the wall separating the beautiful flowers. Determination surged through her. Stopping her skipping along the object, she lifted her head. Placing her left leg before her right, she readied herself. Like a bolt from a crossbow, she shot up the length of stonework. Her muscles flexed with her speed and effort. Gracefully, she entered into the half-spin. Laelithra rotated around. As smoothly as she entered into the technique, she stopped.

A crisp wind blew, sending more of the gentle fragrant aroma of the flowers to Laelithra. Her hair danced in the breeze. Immediately, she wrapped her arms around her chest and tried to take warmth in the creme burlap dress the plump priestess had given her. The garment's sleeves completely covered her arms, restricting her movements more than she was accustomed to.

Running a hand through her hair, she looked around her. She could see the female novices working in the orchard, bees darting about before her, and birds perched on the branches of trees. The Temple of Melitele was beautiful. Of course, her father would have loved it there. While he was hard on the outside, he respected things of beauty. Once more, the bile rose in her throat as she thought of her father. Laelithra had to force it down.

Briefly, she wondered as to where Geralt had disappeared. Upon their entrance to the temple grounds, she noticed how the young girls seemed to blush and whisper to each other when he was around them. They would look at him through lowered eyelashes and giggle. Laelithra wondered what made the older girls react to him that way. Many years later, she would learn the reasons behind it firsthand. Presently, she viewed him as a strong friend she could count on in times of need. Also, she was very young and did not understand such concepts as carnal lust.

Shortly after he introduced her to the priestess, and the plump woman fussed over and applied a cool paste to both of their wounds, he said he needed to take care of something and disappeared. It was two days ago, and she had not seen hide nor hair of him since. It clenched at her heart because she missed him. Was the creature right? Did she care for him this soon? If so, he would be her downfall like her father was. Of course, she respected him.

The sun shone down on him, making his ivory hair shimmer. He wore another cream burlap shirt, laced. Underneath of the shirt, he wore the medallion of his trade. His leather pants clung to his hips and long legs. The large flap of his boots swallowed the ends of the trousers. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"I have seen her techniques, Geralt. She is agile and her reflexes and senses are hone." the short, plump high priestess stated to him. Her dark eyes stared intently into his. "Just yesterday, the novices, child, and I were gathered around in the refectory taking supper. Suddenly, there was a whoosh of air and a loud squeak. The girl hit a rodent...in the light of a single candle."

The witcher did not answer her. He smiled slightly.

"Stop grinning like a proud fool. Exposing the girl to your work and your elixirs is dangerous and irresponsible," she scolded.

"I am not exposing her to anything, Nenneke," Geralt responded calmly. "I do not know how she became so honed in what she does. From what I gathered, her father was killed, by what, I do not know. I suspect she had been traveling alone, and I do not know for how long. It could be possible that the constant threat to her life has sharpened her instincts and reflexes. I assume she's been through much, considering of the nightmares keeping her awake at night."

Laelithra noticed he did not mention who her father was. A frown formed on her face. Did he not believe her explained of who her father was? After all they had been through, he still did not believe her. As he talked about the threats to her life, the merchant's face bubbled up in her mind again. The fear hit her like a charging striga. Laelithra froze in place, willing the memory of the fat merchant who ill-used her away.

"Then, you did not bring her to be healed. You wish her to stay at the temple?" Nenneke couldn't keep the hopeful tone from her voice.

"Yes," he admitted, reluctantly. "She has made no mention of a mother or sibling or any other family. I believe she is an orphan. That is not the cause for my decision, though. There are people after her. I promised to help her, yet I can not do anything until the war's over. I have other obligations."

Nenneke studied him with an unusual smile on her face. It was almost kind. "It is strange," she said. "Fate swirls around the both of you like a maelstrom."

Laelithra lost interest at that point. She resumed her fierce practice along the wall separating the flower beds. Swiftly, she moved as her hair trailed out behind her. The young girl did not worry about Geralt leaving her behind. He wouldn't do that, she thought, would he? Her legs started to protest the speed at which she ran.

The male witcher leaned against the marbled column behind him, crossing his arms over her head, and watched the small girl.

….........

Her stomach growled loudly, making the young girl frown slightly. Reaching up and hooking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, she tried not to remember how the hunger used to gnaw at her, hounding her every step like her own shadow. If she were to survive on her own, she had had to make due with what she was available. Money was sparse in the young girl's lonely existence. Once, a merchant's large purse felt a few small coins lighter after he passed the small waif with dark eyes and light hair. Smiling, she remembered how she felt like she had eaten a feast when she bought the loaf of bread and honey with the coins.

Presently, the soft patter of her feet echoed down the stone hallway. The large open corridor lead to the refectory. In the corner was a statue, depicting three women: A young girl, a pregnant woman, and an old maid. Each statue had arms outstretched with palms opened, providing comfort to the goddess's followers. In several other corners, there were various plants that Laelithra did not recognized. Her brief introduction into herbal lore was a cautionary tale after the young child had decided to nibble on the tips in the leaves of her father's herbal garden. It had rendered her into a coma for two weeks.

She stared up into the statue's eyes, darkly. Where were the gods and goddesses when her father died, and she had called out to them for aid? Where were they when the merchant abused her? Where were they when the creature attacked Geralt and her, injuring the witcher? The cold hard truth was that the world they lived in was more real to her than any form of faith could be. In fact, the truth was murder, rape, and robbery, not some imaginary comfort a goddess could give her. Terrible creatures stalked the shadows, and most of them were clothed in human skin. If she could not trust men, who could she trust?

Immediately, her mind drifted back to her father's brief teachings: not all that was fair was good and not all that was foul was evil. It did not take long for her thoughts to alight on the male witcher. Geralt was the ultimate proof of the saying. He looked so fearsome with his blades, yet she felt at ease with him. When she was not training, her father was the same way. Was that the reason she grew attached to Geralt as fast as she did, she asked herself

Behind her, she heard airy laughter. The young girl was comfortable around adults, yet she did not know how to respond to children her own age. Her father took her from her biological mother when she was very young, trained her since she was very young, and robbed her of her chance to socialize with those of her own age. A dark murky fear spread throughout her. She knew she did not want to be caught by some of the younger novices in the temple. They would wish to speak to her about the white-haired witcher or worse. Perhaps, they would want to know about her father.

Laelithra took a deep breath, held it, and released it through her nose in a gentle whistle. She would not be intimidated by children her own age. What could they possible do to her? Once they learned who trained her, they could reject her. The young child had no possible way of knowing that the novices might have accepted who trained her because of the numerous visits to the temple Geralt had made.

Yet, Laelithra decided to take the easy way out. Tearing her eyes away from the statue, she looked towards the end of the hallway. Quickly, she entered the refectory before the others behind her could say any thing to her.

His golden eyes gleamed behind a dark wooden fork. In his other hand, he held a sharp knife. Before him, there was a large piece of greasy chicken. Thick chunks of dark meat clung to the bone in various places. A much older Laelithra would try to break him of the habit, preferring him to be himself over someone she wanted him to be. In truth, the older Laelithra would fall for the male witcher. Sometimes, her feelings would be willing. Other times, he would coax it out of her. It would become the nature of their relationship: drifting with each other in a sea of willingness and depending on each other in a world set against them.

For now, she was content in watching him. There were many occasions were he would remind her of her father, yet there were other stark differences between the two. Laelithra could never imagine him training her like her father did. As she came to that realization, she noticed he was watching her curiously. Of course, he had to have questions about her. Helpful adults always had questions, then, they would turn on her when she answered. They would beat her. The beatings were not so bad. She was sore the next day, but she would become craftier. In fact, she would take that as opposed the worst thing they could do.

"Hungry?" his voice rumbled, interrupting her thoughts. Lifting her gaze, she found him staring intently at her. While his eyes held the usual penetrating gaze, there was a different quality to them. He looked at her warmly.

Laelithra did not answer him. Many people were beginning to think she was mute. There was a shyness to her, and she treasured the silence. Not many people respected the benefits of being quiet. A person could learn more about their enemies and friends if they were silent and listened. The witcher seemed to understand this.

Yet, the two were not always quiet. When the male witcher had enough beer in him, he would lapse into tales of various monsters he had defeated. Laelithra had found the stories fascinating. Mostly, it was because it reminded her of her father. There was a small part of her that liked to imagine her father like that. A smile graced her face.

"It's somewhat oily," Geralt said. "Nenneke warned me many times to hurry because she was not going to keep the girls in the kitchen all day." An ugly smile spread across his face. Once more, Laelithra marveled at how young it made the witcher look. Geralt placed the knife and fork onto the plate. Like her father used to do, he shoved the plate with the fork and knife across the stone table.

His words relaxed her. They had had that effect since she met him. Without a word, she placed the fork and knife beside the plate and picked up the chicken leg. The grease ran down her fingers, coating her hands. She did not mind the oil, and the fact that Geralt cooked the chicken made it taste better in her mind. The young girl smiled widely in a way that only young child could. He seemed to understand her, and he respected the parts of her she gave him. To Laelithra, the witcher sitting opposite her had hung the moon.

He stood and looked across the table at the small girl, but he remained silent. It was a ritual for the both of them. Laelithra knew it would not be long before he would disappear into the kitchen, fetch a tankard of goat's milk, and a thin slice of bread that they would share. To the young girl, it was strange to watch him do this. What was his motive? Geralt did not have to take care of her like her father did. She was not bound to him.

As he left her, she followed him cautiously with her eyes. The witcher was a good man. He was a fair companion because he never beat her or did anything worse to her. There was still a part of her that questioned why he was doing all that for her. What would taking care of an orphan do for him? No one did anything because they were being kind. However, her mind whispered about how she stood up to the alpor against the fear and confusion that consumed her. Perhaps, he cared about her too.

She placed the bone against her lips, pulled the stringy meat away with her front teeth, and chewed carefully. Laelithra sucked on the greasy chicken, pulling the flavors from it. Her eyes stayed glued to the door Geralt had disappeared into.

….........

For fifteen minutes, Laelithra was alone. Once more, she tried to figured out what it was about Geralt that had made her follow him that rainy day. It was unlike her to put her faith in another person since her father has died. Yet, did that, continued to do that, she continued to do that with the witcher. She still did not understand the reasons behind it. Was it because he reminded her of her father? Perhaps, it was his demeanor. Because he was calm and confident, it rubbed off on the young girl as charcoal to paper.

She set the piece of leg bone down. The muscle and skin had been completely gnawed off of it, leaving no traces of meat. The taste of the chicken was not spectacular. In fact, it tasted bland and oily. However, her stomach did not growl anymore. Hunger was a thing of the past for the small child. Laelithra did not worry about when the next time she would eat was going to be. Since her arrival to the temple, she had eaten with Geralt regularly. It had became a routine for the two. They would spend most of the day apart. However, she would miss him, stumble into the kitchen around mid-day, and have breakfast with him. Immediately, she frowned. Of course, she knew she was becoming attached to the male witcher. Attachments led to misery and pain.

Laelithra did not notice his return, as she was lost in thought. He sat a chipped, wooden tankard glass filled with a liquid as white as hair. The milk coated the sides of the cup.

Instantly, he sat down across from her and placed his hands behind his head. Geralt moved, lifted his legs, and placed his feet on the table. Next, he crossed his boots. He leaned back in the chair comfortably. His golden eyes searched her face, looking for something that was not there.

A strange feeling developed deep within her breast. She returned his gaze, and did not shrink away like most children would to him. From the look in his eyes, she could tell what was going to come next. Tingles of anticipation raced through her body. Lifting her cup, she drank the milk deeply. The taste was slightly sweet. Beneath the sweetness, a salty undertone spread throughout her mouth. Laelithra loved the rich texture of the liquid.

"Drowners and drowned dead," he began. His face pulled into a look of contempt. She could tell that he was disgusted by what he called drowners and drowned dead, yet the young child did not hold any love for them either. Before she could answer him, he continued, "Sometimes executioners throw the bodies of hanged criminals into a canal, lake, or river. The shells of the bodies rise due to the weight of the person's crimes in life. Sometimes, they are born from magical abortions. They all have one thing in common. Their spirits can not rest. The drowner and drowned dead can only be found at night. They are easily recognized. Slime covers their greenish bodies completely."

She sat still listening to him. Within, she wondered why he was giving her this information. After all, she was going to be with him. Geralt would protect her from the human and non-human monsters. Laelithra would not have to go back to the life she once led. Her eyes turned dark as she gazed at him.

"The drowner and drowned dead are very sensitive to silver," Geralt continued. "One drowner is not much of a challenge. Because the creature is an agile opponent, you must make sure your blade strokes are equally quick."

Laelithra remembered the brief time that Viktor had taught her about the drowners.

"This is why Addan Anye is key to the successful defeat of a drowner. The blade will make small nicks and cuts, yet, you will eventually bleed it into submission. Do you remember what Addan Anye means, my child?" Viktor stood with a large heavy bag. The bag quivered against his side as an ominous scratching sound came forth from it.

"It is the Fiery Dancer. It favors speed over strength. The ideal swordsman becomes like a flame, hitting successfully and not getting hit herself. It is better to be fast than it is to be slow. A quick opponent can bleed me until I collapse. Will I ever be as fast as you, Father?"

Viktor smiled, slightly. "Doubtful, my child." With one hand he handed her the silver sword. The steel gleamed in the moonlight that raced along its edges with soft white fire. Runes ran down the flat of the blade, gleaming in the milky light. She could not read the words. He had never taught her neither to read nor to write common or elder. Laelithra had never asked why. Perhaps, he wished her to remain dumb or to have to count on his help for the rest of her life. He had only taught her monster names.

The silver sword felt light in her hands. The difference between the training swords and runic sword was shocking. As she swiped through the air, she marveled at the speed. It was unusual to her. A part of her wondered why her father had given her the sword he had forbidden her for so long. What was it he planned to do?

Immediately, a fear crept into the heart of the young girl. Whatever it was her father wished of her would require her to use a real weapon. It was part of their training. She had learned to use a steel sword against him during their sparring. Numerous times, she could see him glow with pride at the rate at which she learned something. The training was becoming easier for her now, since she was now four and half.

However, he had told her numerous times to not touch the silver blade. The metal in the blade was soft and delicate. In fact, he had wrapped it in the softest fur he could find. Addan Bloede, Bloody Dancer, was the witcher's most prized possession. Laelithra held the slender, dark hilt in her hands and felt the supple leather caress her palms. Her gaze darkened as she looked into her father's brilliant, azure slitted eyes. She was unsure of what he wanted, and she was scared.

Viktor was never frightened, and Laelithra tried to be like her father in many ways. Shame spread through her at her own cowardice, claiming her with its thick, black tendrils. Her father was a special swordsman, and he never needed to be afraid. In her wildest dreams, she would never be as good as he was.

The scratching from the cloth hit a crescendo. Claws scraped against the burlap sack, echoing in the cool, spring night air. The night flowers were just starting to open and send forth their sweet fragrances. "No, you will never be as fast as myself. Yet, you will need to be agile." He paused once more. With his other hand, he pulled away the cord from the bag. The material slithered down to the ground. "Starting now. Remember, do not make me regret."

A green wrinkled creature stood on its spindly legs. Globs of slime rolled off the body in thick plops. Clumps of weeds stuck in the ooze, making the beast shimmer in the moonlight. Its forelimbs stayed at its side. Light, glassy eyes stared out of a fetid face. More than half of the beast's face had been removed. By what, Laelithra did not know. Crusted, blunted fingernails clicked in anticipation. Laelithra could not understand the grunting sounds that resembled an archaic form of language. Even drowners had to have a way of speaking, she mused to herself.

She did not charge the creature. While she was aggressive, the young girl was not foolish. Her father did train her to react on instinct, but there was a difference between instinct and eagerness. Instinct was watching an opponent's movements and knowing what they were going to do next. Eagerness was allowing the battle lust to consume one's self, causing a person to be careless. In fact, eagerness would almost always lead to a dead swordsman.

She placed her rear foot behind her and firmly planted it. She smoothly moved into the en guard stance, keeping her eyes on the creature before her. This was it. Laelithra knew the sadistic tendencies of Viktor. He would expect her to succeed, or he would expect her to die. There were no shades of grey when it came to him. There was only black and white. All of her training up that point had culminated into one single event: the destruction of the drowner. Laelithra would not die because she would not disappoint her father.

With a wet hiss that sounded like death itself, the creature charged the young girl. Its agility surprised her. As it ran, globs of ooze shed from it and landed on tree trunks, flowers, and grass. Its yellow, square teeth gnashed together rhythmically.

As it ran, Laelithra's eyes narrowed. There was something off about the way the creature moved. While she did not encounter a drowner before, she did stumble across some wild life in their private corner of the world. Normal, healthy animals did not move with a lanky gate. The young girl bent her legs and kept her body loose as she continued to examine the beast.

Realization struck her at the same time the drowner was upon her. Because her father had made one of its thighs lame, it would not be a fair fight. Immediately, the creature extended its forearms and reached for her. It wished to drag her back to its watery grave. Yet, a pond was far from where they lived. If she was not in the throes of combat, she would have wondered where he got such a foul beast.

Instinctively, she moved into an In Quartara. She turned on the inside, concealing her front. However, this swift movement had exposed her back to the creature. A part of her hoped it would fall for such a simple trick.

"If you think Laelithra, you will die. Prove to me that I made the right choice, girl. It is not too late to dispose of you and chose your brother. In fact, he would find this easier than you because he is a boy," Viktor called over the growling, grunting, and other noises of the drowner. His eyes shone with malcontent.

I am better than some boy, she thought. Anger and hatred built up inside, focused at her father. She proved to him many times that she could do anything that her brother, or any boy, could. Of course, she was smaller built, yet she used her size to become agile. However, it was a constant burden in her life to prove that her father did not make the wrong choice.

Once more, the slimy beast renewed its attack. It swung its arms at the young girl, attempting to bring her down with a wild blow. After all, she was the weaker of the two.

Acting on an instinct that she did not realize she had, Laelithra dropped a hand to the ground and lowered herself beneath the arms of the beast. At the same time, she extended her sword arm. Addan Bloede gleamed in the moonlight, silver with the wrath of the young girl. She could feel the ooze drip off of its arms and plop into her platinum hair, and a revolting smell nearly overcame her. Using the rage bellowing inside of her, she thrust the blade forward.

The beast's eyes bulged, and it opened its wide mouth in an agonizing scream. As long as she could remember, Laelithra would never forgot the beast's unholy screech. Thick, ebony blood burst from its abdomen, dribbling down the stomach of the creature and getting lost in the weeds surrounding its waist.

When the beast started to writhe in a death throe, it toppled over on the young girl. As she was caught off-guard, her father's sword was wrenched from her grasp. Soon, the young girl found herself on her back. She was surrounded by the stink and slime, and pinned by the weight of the drowner. Laelithra's breaths came out in shallow puffs. The young girl did not need to know what was going to happen; she was being crushed alive. Yet, it was not the only thing the foul creature had in mind.

Driven on by wickedness, it lowered its head to the only part of her body it could reach. She could not move her arm away from the drowner. It's saliva dripped on her arm, escaping from its mouth full of yellow, crooked teeth. While the teeth could not do much to her father, she knew they could harm her.

The little girl cried out in pain as the beast bit down on the flesh of her arm. Blood flowed freely from her, mixing on the ground. Tiny white flowers blanketed the ground as her life dulled them a red. Nothing existed in the world but the drowner and the hurt of the girl.

Suddenly, the head of the beast lurched forward. The act caused its teeth to drag on her arm, shredding the flesh. Yet, she watched the drowner's head roll off of its shoulders, down her own shoulder and chest, and bounced along the ground. It came to rest before a stump of the tree. Over the headless corpse, she looked into eye's the color of the sky on a clear day.

"Worthless," he spewed at her. In his hand, he held a rag. It was an old piece of cloth, and Laelithra recognized the fabric from one of her old dresses. When she had outgrown the majority of her clothes, Viktor had complain about the problems of her being a girl again. This had shamed Laelithra, causing her to feel pity for him. If she was a boy, she could do everything better. She could train properly. Yet, he had chosen her over her brother, Leviticus. What was the reason, she wondered.

In his other hand, he held a bottle filled with foul-smelling liquids. She knew the bottle contained the ground herbs from his strange garden. The herbs that she was forbidden from eating. What was he going to do with the bottle?

She blinked as the blood loss made her feel light headed. Blood roared in her ears, confusing her brain. For a moment, Laelithra thought he had poured some of the elixir on the cloth.

He knelt beside her, and her heart nearly burst. Her father had never knelt for anyone. He was a proud and foolish man. The peasants feared him, but none knew him. Viktor placed the cork back into the bottle and set it next to them. With his free hand, he took the headless corpse by its shoulder and pulled it off of her.

At once, she felt like she could breathe again. Yet, the blood still flowed freely from her. She was in danger of dying from blood loss. The young girl could not think as her mind clouded. Immediately, she whimpered in pain as he placed the cloth on the wound. Because whatever was on the piece of cloth burned her injury, she gritted her teeth. He had told her the garden was off-limits. It made her very ill after she had a few nibbles of the leaves. Slowly, it dawned on her. Viktor was trying to kill her because she had failed him.

"There is not enough on there to kill you," he said.

Briefly, she wondered if he could read her mind, or if her father would lie. Then, the young girl fell into darkness.

"-is why when there is a group of them one switches to the Viroledan Naev'de Feaine Glaeddyv," Geralt continued. He sat in the chair across from her. His hair obscured most of his face from view.

"Geralt?"

He looked up. "Mhm?"

"Why are you telling me all of this?" she asked him. Of course, she was curious. Why did she need the information if he was going to be there? The young girl did not dream of being separated from him.

"Because I am leaving you here." If she had suspected excuses, she was disappointed. He did not have any. In fact, it was not even a request.

"No, I'm coming with you."

"No, I do not know these creatures or the organization that hunt you. You are safest here." His eyes took on a cold, penetrating quality to them. She felt small, insignificant under his stare. Just as suddenly as the look came, it vanished. "Besides, I often think Nenneke could keep an army away with force of will alone." A faint smile crossed his lips.

She did not think of how much younger he looked, or of how the scars on his face smoothed out because he smiled. A slow stubbornness overcame her soul. "No. I don't want to stay here. I want to come with you," she pleaded, desperately. Tears leaped into her eyes as her voice cracked.

If she thought tears would have soften him, she was mistaken. The witcher did not answer her.

"Please?"

"No." It was a simple answer.

Yet, she could tell his response was not up for debate. He meant to leave her there, for her to learn from the priestesses, to be an initiate herself. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the witcher. How could he leave her there? How could he expect her to defend herself? Her tiny chest rose and fell in heavy puffs. As the intensity thickened, she gritted her teeth.

Immediately, she turned and fled from the refectory. To Laelithra's credit, she did not understand what he did was to protect her. He had other things to worry about other than an orphan. Yet, all that ran through the child's mind was that monsters do exist, and Geralt was one of them.

….........

The White Wolf will die, Child of Viktor. He is in the way, and he will be dealt with in the way my kind deals with his. Make no mistake, child, he will die.

She saw a blinding light flash before her eyes. Her head throbbed and agony exploded throughout her brain. Immediately, her small body collapsed to the floor.

Blood. Terror. Darkness.

Laelithra bolted upright in the small bed. Her heart pounded in her chest. She lifted her hand and brushed off the beads of sweat collecting on her skin. She tried to remember what was in her dream that had caused her such pains. If it woke her up, it had to be extremely important. No one dreamed things just to dream them. Every dream had symbolism, and every image had a different meaning. In her case, every image and dream was a premonition of what would happen in the future.

As she searched for the image or any thing resembling the feeling of the dream, she sighed roughly. It was lost to her, and she was left with her heart fluttering. The only piece of the dream she remembered was that she had to warn someone of a trap. But who?

Frustration mounted in her. She pushed the brown covers off of her and moved towards the edge of the bed. Her hair swung into her face, hiding her dark eyes, small nose, and lips. With one hand, she pushed the platinum mass back and grimaced. Her body and hair were slick with sweat. Immediately, she placed the palms of her hands on her face and sobbed into them.

Much had happened to the little girl since the death of her father, yet there was a bright place in the darkness of her life: Geralt. Then, she remembered he was going to leave her. She would be alone. There would be no-one to protect her, no-one to talk to, or no-one to rely on. Utterly alone. The sobs came louder and more clear. Tears traced down her cheek, getting lost between her fingers. She sat there for a moment, losing herself in the misery assaulting her heart.

Then, she lifted her head. He might have been leaving her to stay in the temple. In fact, he might leave tomorrow or the next day. He would pack the Roach and journey to places she could not follow. Would he return for her? Geralt told her they would find out who the Arcani and Jhaer were? Did he lie? Would he lie to her? Laelithra did not think he would, yet, she did not really know him.

None of it mattered at that moment. The fear crept over her heart again, causing the small hairs on the back of her neck to stand straight up. There was no need to be frighten or alone. He had not left yet. She lifted her head and stared out into the darkness in quiet contemplation. Her dark eyes glimmered, adjusting to the pitch black of the room. Slowly, she could see in muted, dark grey shapes.

As she placed her small feet on the stone floor, she shivered. It was more from the remnants of a dream she could not understand nor remember than anything else. The floor felt cold, and the pebbles ground into the arches of her feet. A chilly breeze drifted through her room from an open window. Once more, she shivered. Still, it was from neither the cold of the floor nor that of the breeze.

He was going to leave her, and she would be alone again. Laelithra stared at the blurry image of the dresser before the bed. If she left first, he couldn't leave her. She bit the corner of her mouth, thinking quietly. Suddenly, she realized it would not work. She was reluctant to leave the temple or the witcher. To be honest, she doubted she could make it in a world without someone anymore. Geralt would not have noticed her leave because his type never did.

Guilt spread throughout her body. She should not even have considered leaving. It was obvious that Geralt had thought of her. While their meeting by the road was chance, she was brought to the temple for a reason. Was it to learn, to hear, or something else entirely different?

A brief image of her father flashed before her eyes, causing the young girl into shrink in the darkness. On the nights that she could remember, she felt alone. Even though the world was in war, no one could know the desperation the little girl felt. It was that way with grief. Laelithra thought she would mourn him forever, but then Geralt came. Was it a sign?

Laelithra stood up from of the bed. Her heart thumped in her throat. She did not want to stay in the room any longer. It felt as if the shadows had tendrils, clinging to her every fear. No, she did not want to stay there. Slowly, she would go insane from the overwhelming tension of the small room.

She wrapped her arms around her chest. As she imagined being alone, her breathing increased. The little girl panted quickly. Her heart raced, sounding like a sprinting horse. A thin veil of sweat covered her flesh. She could not stop her body from trembling as she held herself tighter.

Stop, her mind screamed at her. A part of her tried to reassure herself. Was it really as bad as she felt it was? Not being able to remember her dreams coupled with being left behind was causing her pains. There was no way out.

After she took a deep breath, she tried to cease her fretting. However, her mind would not be sated without knowing what her dream entailed. The sweat still glistened on her skin. Her mind still buckled with anxiety. She still shook.

She needed someone tonight. Her father had passed on, and she could not go to him. Yet, there was another one she cared about just as deeply. He had threatened to leave, but he was not gone yet.

Immediately, she took a step towards the door. No, Geralt was not gone yet.

….........

The soft pattering of her feet echoed down the length of the hallway. Her feet felt every cold, sharp pebble making up the long stone floor leading the way to where her salvation lay. Candles lit her way barely. A sweet scent drifted down the corridor, enveloping around the young child. The incense was meant to comfort the weary soul.

Yet, Laelithra could not find solace either in her soul or the scent. When the nightmares surfaced, she whimpered for her father. Laelithra missed him. It dawned on her she had transferred her views of her father onto Geralt. Was that the reason she could not bear to part from him? She tried not to cry and tried to understand the reasoning behind his departure. Her father had taught her to be brave like he was. Shaking her head, she tried to do that now. Not crying, understanding his reasoning, and having courage were the toughest things she could do. Would she ever be what Viktor visioned her to be? Would she be strong and fast as he was? Of course, she knew it was unlikely. Viktor was a witcher, and she was human.

Laelithra looked up at the door looming before her. She did not think that anything could look so foreboding and inviting at the same time. Frowning, she tried to quiet the doubts coursing through her mind. What if he did not wish her there? Embarrassment surged through her body as she thought about the last time she saw the witcher. The young girl had fled from him, believing him to be a monster. What if there was someone with him? Most of the girls and women at the temple had noticed the male witcher. Some had whispered things and giggled about him. Laelithra neither understood the things they said, nor why they blushed around him. Geralt was a man. Nothing more.

As another wisp of cold air brought her out of her thoughts, she looked once more at the large door; the brown wooden door set inside a grey stone archway. It looked like any other door in the large temple, yet it held her hopes and fears inside. She raised her hand to knock, but doubt ceased her actions. What would happen if he was angry? Laelithra knew he rarely lost his temper with her. Her defiance had surfaced a few times with him, and he had handled her. The witcher was kind to her. For the millionth time, she had to ask herself why. When had she become reliant upon his support? Relying on Geralt, or anyone, was dangerous. People disappointed her more times than not.

Slowly, she lowered her hand. She would not come to rely on the witcher for protection or emotional comfort. It was a need she could not afford. Since her father died, it was Laelithra against the world. The young girl did not need anyone else. Her eyes teared up, but she knew what she needed to do. He was leaving her, anyway. Perhaps, she would leave first. Quickly, she turned away.

Suddenly, the door opened. He stood there. His white hair tumbled over his face, framing his sharp features. Molten eyes stared at her in surprise, tiredness claiming the corners. Thin lips were set in a scowl. The dimming candle-light framed him, illuminating his flat, small, dusky nipples and every muscle in his upper torso. White linen trousers covered his hips and thighs. "Laelithra? What's wrong?"

A blush entered the young girl's cheeks. She had seen her father in various stages of undress, yet he had always worn his leather trousers. Laelithra had never seen a man in his undergarments. Geralt was the first. Her mind weighed her options as she stared at the witcher's face. Say something, she thought. Flee to your room, her thoughts commanded her, but she stood there as still as death itself.

"Laelithra, come in here. Did you have another dream?" his voice rumbled with the edges blunted by sleep.

She heard his voice, and she still could not find her own. There was one thing she could not stand to do, though. The young girl could not stand outside the room, wallowing in her embarrassment. "No..Yes. I can not remember what," she replied. Laelithra was sure her face was as red as an apple. Without so much as a glance to Geralt, she stepped past him.

Either the witcher was an oracle, or he was decent at reading other people. He knew how she felt. Geralt chuckled. The sound echoed through the cold, stone room. It warmed her insides. He was laughing at her misfortune. Immediately, he went to the side of the bed and picked up the leather pants thrown carelessly on the floor. "You have never seen your father-"

Laelithra stared up at one of the paintings hanging on the wall. She was sure he was teasing her. Was it some sort of revenge for her outburst at lunch? Would the floor swallow her so she could forget about this uncomfortable moment? The young girl hoped so. "No," she answered, nervously. As she heard the rustle of his clothing, she tried to command the blush to leave her face. "Father was more concerned with my training."

She heard him sit on the bed. "I have been kind to you, and I thought you would tell me on your own time. However, our time together grows short. If I am going to help you with figuring out this organization, this Arcani, I need to know how Viktor died. There might be a connection."

Laelithra knew he would demand to know someday. However, she was not prepared to answer that request so soon. Her face paled. She turned to face him, locking her dark eyes onto his golden ones. "Father and I traveled in the warmer seasons. There was always a monster, a town, some coin to be made. More often than not, he would accept work without worrying about a payment. When he did, it was enough to allow us to survive and keep his weapons and armor maintained." It was what did not make sense to Geralt's analysis of Viktor. He worked to help people. Most of the time, he did it for free. How was that hating humanity?

She watched the witcher's eyes harden at the statement. Laelithra did not understand what her father was doing at the time. It was against what Geralt did. However, he did not say anything and allowed her to continue.

"During winter, Father and I stayed at his house. The cottage was secluded. Although the townspeople would come across us rarely, they were friendly. It was rare for them to judge us. When the very few crowns Father had collected during the warmer seasons ran dry, he would go into town for work." It was one of the reasons she found the peasants who attacked Geralt and her on the road strange. Her experience with villagers and witchers was skewed. If she had only known.

The witcher was silent.

"One winter's night, a new snow had fallen. It coated the branches of the trees surrounding our home. As a cold wind blew, a knock came from our door. There were three men. When father was working, a creature moved into the town. The beast was controlling the town's men, and her want for blood was unequal. Father could never say no. Taking his sword, he went to confront this monster who tricks men." She stared off into space as she recounted the past. Her body felt numb as she talked.

"The vampire proved to much and killed him?"

"No. I do not know what injured him. For me, it started with those damn flowers he forbade me to touch. Those were always off limits to me. However, they were so pretty, and I could not help myself." Her gaze went to the table, looking at the open pages of cults. The words did not make sense to her. It was just squiggly lines. She remained silent, reliving that awful day.

Icicles hung off of the rafters. Snow blanketed the roof and window sills. A freezing wind howled past her, chilling her to the bone. Looking at the snow covering the ground, she frowned. Thick bootprints dented the soft, powdery snow. In the middle of the footprints, blood was splattered in large circles. For a brief moment, she thought of fleeing into the woods and going into town for help. She was alone. What could a young girl do?

Yet, Viktor's training emerged in the young girl. If someone was in the house and she went to get help, they could take whatever they wanted. No, the young girl would not run away and hide. Laelithra would not let anyone disturb her father's work or steal from him. Immediately, she bent down by the entrance of the ajar door.

The young girl picked up an elongated icicle. The ice stuck to her skin as she gripped it with one of her hands. Looking through the slim, clear weapon, she saw the blood drops magnify. Her father had told her that any object could be used as a weapon in her hands. In fact, he listed a variety of normal objects he used to protect himself with at one point. Something as delicate and fragile as ice could be turned into a lethal object if the right amount of pressure was applied to it.

Fear clung to her body, making her hackles raise up. Next, shame followed closely behind the terror. Her father would not have been afraid. He would have drank from a vial of herb-infused alcohol. Viktor had called them elixirs. Then, he would have entered the house and confronted what lay in wait for him inside. The man was never frightened.

In her other hand, she gripped the wild flowers she had collected. It was the reason she had left the small cottage in the first place. Viktor had told her to stay out of his special garden many times. If she either ingested or touched any plants, the oil or plant itself could prove enough to kill the young girl. However, she could not hold back her nature. She was curious. It was what made her a good pupil.

Stepping inside the house, her heart nearly stopped. Blood was smeared along the floor, making the wood appear luminescent with a tinge of red. Laelithra had worked hard the previous day. Her father had ordered her to scrub the entire floor, oil his weapons and armor, and stuff the training targets with straw before stitching them. That maleficent day was supposed to be spent in quiet reflection of how her training would effect her life in the future. It was ironic. As long as she could remember, she would never forget the scene she walked into.

A sweet, woody incense floated through the wooden home. Before she had left to collect her flowers in the wilderness surrounding the cottage, she had burned it. Laelithra knew her father should have returned that day. It had been five days since the peasant men had come to their home, pleading the witcher's help. The two, daughter and father, would meditate together. Viktor had found it easier to keep the young girl's meditative state with the use of aids. The wood was one of those additional props that helped her. Now, it permeated the entire dwelling.

Another scent accompanied the sweet smell. It was pungent, and she could not place it at first. Her stomach rolled over on itself as she pushed further into the house. The last time she smelled something like that was when her father was injured. It was like death itself had come to her home, and she gagged.

As she went through each room, following the large blood trail, she gripped the icicle hard. The cold bit into her hand, causing her fingers and palm to become numb. She ignored it because she had to. Her father's things were important to him. They consisted of papers he had from before he had taken her brother and her that fateful day, weapons, and various armor.

A sharp, masculine grunt woke her from her thoughts. She had heard the sound before. When her father worked in the seasons and when she was asleep curled up in bed at night, she would often hear the moaning. It would rumble with pleasure. Now, there was no pleasure involve. It did not make her curious. No, it sounded as if there was an animal injured inside of her home. Once more, the fear clung to her heart. If there was a beast, the young girl could not overpower it. Laelithra would die.

Inside the main room, shock hit her. It punched into her gut. At first, she wondered if she had lost her mind. After all, it was quite possible because her father had not given her meat in a very long time. There were times when she craved the sustenance that only a predator could understand. Still, her father forbade her any.

Quickly, both weapon and flowers dropped to the floor. Her breath htched inside of her throat, and she could not exhale. Because of the powder from the flower on her hands, she did not rub her eyes. Yet, she had to fight with herself not to.

Her father sat on the floor with his back propped against the legs of one of their wooden chairs. She could not see his blue, slitted eyes as his grey hair covered his face. Blood stained his normally white shirt red. There were no spots where the white shone through. Several holes appeared in the shirt and the shredded jerkin beside him. The blackish-red pool of liquid spread around him in a circle.

"Father!"

He moved, wheezed in pain, and coughed. Viktor of Vizima did not look up at her. A good amount of his hair was matted to his face. It was slicked with gore and tinted red. She could see the chunks of black in it. A putrid smell came from the wounds.

"Father, please let me help you. I will mix a white myrtle, hellebore, and celandine paste. It will ease your pain and stop the blood flow," she said, fearfully. Tears clung to her eyelashes, her breath came out shaky, and her hands trembled. Her mind cried out, thinking of anything that could help the man injured before her.

"No. This is my final lesson to you...daughter," he replied, stubbornly. Even fatally injured, Viktor was still stubborn and her mentor. He lifted his gaze to hers, boring deep within her soul. He placed his hand on his bloodstained shirt and lifted it weakly. Blood and gore dripped from it. "This is the ultimate fate of my kind, Laelithra. It was chosen for me when I was first given the Trials, and it is what is intended for you." Once more, he stopped and wheezed.

Her eyes flared defiantly. This was not what fate had decided for her. She would not be the subject of a predetermined destiny. "It is not what destiny has prepared for me. I will not become like you are, Father."

The old man smiled and laugh. More blood spilled from his wounds. After the weak and feeble laugh, he coughed violently. His gasping increased and spittle flew from his mouth. "Child, it is what you are. You can not fight destiny like I have shown you. Destiny can not be slain by sword and hope. We were mutated to slay monsters for money, for the protection of innocence. If the world as we know it ended, we would still be there until a beast more powerful than us slays us." His eyes turned glassy, and he stared out into space. Briefly, the young girl wondered if he had passed on. Yet, he stirred once more. "No, child. It is our destiny."

His words felt like a noose tightening around her neck, cutting off what little breath she had left. It was not her destiny. She was not mutated as he was. The wheezing of the the old man cut at her heart. Tears leaked from her eyes again. With her arm, she wiped them away.

"I can no longer train you, daughter. There are forces at work here that you do not understand. Your learning with me has ended. Yet, there are others who could train you." His eyes took the far off look once more. It was as if he was remembering something that the young girl did not have privy to. "Find the key to my study. Inside, you will find manuscripts scattered on my desks. You will need those. In fact, you will know what to do with them when the time comes. Also, my amulet is in the top drawer. Get it." He coughed once more. This time, he shook as he coughed. His wheezes were intensifying, and a frothy blood lined his lips.

Laelithra knelt beside the man on one knee. The blood smeared onto her dress, staining it. Her eyes burned with tears. Her destiny, as her father put it, sank deep within her chest. Fear engulfed her. She did not utter a word.

"Make towards the river Buina. Then follow the Gwenllech. Stay off the roads, child." The man moved, unbuckling the thick straps across his chest. He grunted in pain as he moved, sliding the sheath from his back. Inside the lizard-skin sheath was his silver sword. The silver handle of Addan Bloede shone against the brown leather wrappings. With effort, her father withdrew the blade. It leaped into his hands as if wanting to avenge the fallen witcher. Viktor pushed the sword into her hands. Even as she pulled away from his touch, he enclosed her fingers around the handle. It was the last act the old man would make before darkness consumed his body, mind, and soul.

Laelithra blinked as she finished her tale. Tears threatened to consume the young child again. Remembering the terrible day her father died had left the young girl physically drained. Her breath came out quickly as the tears spilled over her cheeks. She drew the blankets around her. Briefly, she wondered when she had gotten into the bed.

Geralt held her close to his chest. She could feel the light, wiry chest hair cushion her cheek. With his free hand, he pressed her head to him, refusing to let her move. It was an act that her father had done when the nightmares had consumed her on so many nights. With his other hand splayed on her back, she sighed deeply. The calloused hands felt strong and protective. Those hands had defeated many monsters, both human and non-human. Right now, they kept the dreams and memories away by strength of will alone. His sharp chin rested on the top of her head.

If Laelithra thought he would comment about her father's death, she was wrong. He was silent as he always was, yet, there was something healing to the silence. It was something that only she and Geralt could appreciate. Soon, her eyes felt heavy as she felt sleep calling for her once more.

….........

Something was wrong.

Laelithra lifted her head as she blinked her eyes. For a brief moment, she wondered where she was. While the room bore a resemblance to her own room, there were several key differences.

On the dark, wooden dresser, there several books lay. On top of the pile, the Wonderful World of Insectoids lay open. The rest were a hodgepodge of titles ranging from herbal information to monster lore. Most were titles the young girl could not understand or read in some cases. Her father had taught her to recognize certain words and phrases. Most had to do with monsters. Others were ferns, flowers, and herbs. None were useful to her. She wondered why he would teach her those unnecessary things. Next to the books, an open container lay. The smell was pungent and left her feeling light headed. The only combination of plants that did that to the young child was eucalyptus and mint. When combined into a paste, it could be used to treat wounds. She wondered if wounds could be healed in that way. Absentmindedly, she touched her cheek. The plump priestess had spread the paste on her skin after stitching the wounds caused by the peasants thrown rocks.

Another smell drifted to her. It was heavily male: woody. The scent enveloped the bed clothes, surrounding her in a primal childish emotion. She felt safe in the comfort of the bed, within the aroma. Much later in her life, she would associate the scent with Geralt and warm sensations would engulf her stomach. Presently, it comforted her. Nothing evil could penetrate the security of that bedchamber.

A tiny warning ballooned in her chest. Laelithra did not want this. Seeking the security of the male witcher could only lead to disaster. The young girl could not rely on him. It was not just Geralt. She could not rely on anyone because people had always let her down. It was only a matter of time before a person's true nature was revealed. Yawning, she let her thoughts drift to the male witcher. Staying here as he asked her to would require one thing she did not know if she could give it: trust. Could she blindly trust Geralt? Yes, he had shown her generosity, and she had become close to him, yet could she trust him completely? How could she know if he wanted something from her at a later point in time? Trust...it was something she had given freely before her solitary traveling had wrenched the feeling from the small girl.

However, a small part of her relished the feelings blossoming in her bosom. It had been some time since she felt warm and safe. There were no hard stones biting in her back, deep snow freezing her toes, or merchants tempting her with meat. Also, there were no nights were she wondered if she would be alive in the morning. In the temple with him, she felt things she had not felt since before her father had passed on.

What would be the harm in letting him care for her while he was at the temple, her mind whispered, enticingly. She resented the thought of depending on someone. It left a hole burning deep within her belly. Laelithra could not depend on anyone. The only one she could depend on was herself. The thoughts consumed her, bringing forth a whine from deep within her soul. It felt good to have someone worried about her best interests.

Laelithra shifted towards him. In the night, he must have moved to the other side of the bed. Would it have been wrong to let him care for her while he was here? What harm could come of it, the words blew across her mind like a balm. With him, she could be a small child again. She could recapture a part of her shattered childhood. Terror knotted her stomach. The young girl did not have anyone to depend on since her father. It was a horrifying experience to look to someone else for her well-being, yet, she could not stop the feelings. With a surprised shudder, she realized she had already depended on the witcher. The young child had already depended on him for emotional and physical protection.

Immediately, the five year old reached for the witcher who had become her world. The linen sheet felt cool against her palm as she stretched, wishing to touch the one who had become like a father to her. Her hand raced along the smooth surface of the thin blanket, over the down pillow, and to the witcher. She did not feel him. In fact, she felt nothing. There was no one in bed with her.

Suddenly, she jerked upright and sat with her fingers curled around the top of the sheet. Geralt did not tell her that he was leaving. He did not say goodbye. The only thing remaining was the woodsy scent of the witcher. Anguish flooded throughout her, cutting deeply as if it was an arrow piercing her heart. The witcher was gone.

The young child threw back the covers with a whoosing sound. What if she was too late? The thought crossed her mind as she swung her tiny legs from the bed. Anxiety clutched at her heart. Worry rushed over her, making her skin flush. A cold draft traveled across the stone floor and made her toes curl inward. Yet, she pushed the feeling further from her mind. Laelithra said a silent thanks to her father for his teaching of her how to ignore all things unpleasant.

She would not let him slink off like a thief in the night. Quickly, she darted forward. The sound of her feet hitting the floor echoed through the halls of the temple. Gritting her teeth, she ran down the steps to the courtyard, two at a time. The only witness to her hysterical and precise movement was the statues of Melitele. Laelithra floated down the stairs, using her father's training to her benefit.

Her mind criticized her, telling her she should have opened to Geralt sooner. Another part of her questioned if he only stayed around to hear how her father died. Geralt would not do that. Anger mixed with the fear of being left alone. How could he leave without a word? Did he not realize she had come to depend on him?

"Watch out," a novice shouted as Laelithra's elbow jabbed into the side of the woman. The young woman rocked back and forth as the vegetables from her wicker basket spilled onto the stairs. Onions rolled down the stone steps as the blonde haired girl attempted to snatch them. Her clear eyes darkened as she stared at the young child's back.

If the girl thought Laelithra would slow down, she was wrong. It was as if the young child had the King of the Wild Hunt at her back. In truth, she felt like Death itself was chasing her. She frowned, looking at the large, wooden door barring her way to the courtyard. This was the only thing standing in her ways between the witcher and solitude. Could she give it up? If she pursued the male witcher, she would have to compromise her way of life. Townspeople would constantly regard him with more suspicion if he traveled with her. Was it worth it?

She commanded herself to stop her train of thought. The life the young girl led before the witcher was inconsequential to the way he made her feel. Geralt had changed her life. Even if she refused to admit it, she needed him. There are others who could train you. Her father's words rang through the caverns of her mind. Immediately, her thoughts settled on the white-haired witcher. He was like her father. Geralt was a witcher. She knew Geralt could understand the training she needed to go through. There are others who could train you.

The young girl emerged from the temple like a newborn bursting forth from the womb. The sunlight blinded her, causing her to squint her eyes tightly. The pain of the sudden light made her head throb. Red spots danced behind her eyelids. Sweet scents of flowers drifted to her as she forced her eyes open. Birds chirped. However, Laelithra did not notice as she searched for her quarry.

He stood still. The sunlight shone on him, making him appear as a ghostly apparition. His white hair flowed down behind him, stopping in jagged strains on his broad shoulders. Glints of silver sparkled from his black gloves. Behind him, the brown mare was loaded with supplies.

"For Melitele's sake, why won't you stay here? You are not fully recovered yet." The plump priestess placed her hands on her hips, staring up at the witcher. Laelithra knew how stubborn the woman could be, and it endeared the priestess to the young girl.

However, she did not think about what the priestess was talking about. All she cared about was that the person who replaced her father was standing before her. If she said nothing, he would leave. The young girl clenched her teeth together against the fear spreading through her. She could not let Geralt go.

Suddenly, she cried out, "Geralt, wait!!" The sound echoed around the courtyard, seeming coming from all directions. Springing forth, she raced down the outside steps. Her long, thin legs supported her, allowing her to jump from the third step from the bottom and land on her feet. "Don't go!!"

Both of the adults turned towards Laelithra. Surprise flashed across the witcher's face before he could slip his emotionless mask back in place. It was followed by a scowl. When did the witcher not scowl, she thought to herself.

Resolutely, the young girl sprinted towards him. He could not leave her. No, she would not let him leave her. Fear gave way to determination. Once she had stopped before him and the Roach, the little girl stared up at him. She stared up at him and did not make a noise.

Nenneke could see the two needed to talk to each other. A smile crossed her lips at the scene of the little girl standing up to the white-haired witcher. Then, she walked away from the two.

Laelithra continued to stare up at him. Anger flashed in her eyes. "You were going to leave," she growled, accusingly. Her small fists were planted on her hips. The girl was either brave, or incredibly stupid.

"I told you. You are safer here than with me."

She shook her head, grabbed his arm, and stared up at him. The linen shirt felt rough beneath her fingertips. Her mouth set in a grim line, mimicking the witcher's. Both were stubborn, but Laelithra was used to getting her way by now. "No. I am going with you, and you can't stop me. I'll just follow you when you leave." She meant the words.

His golden eyes flared, reminding her of liquid gold. A snarl passed over his face and was lost. Muscles flexed beneath her hand. Laelithra could see a twitch in his jaw. "Do you not know who I am? I am Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf. I am a witcher, and I slay monsters for a living."

Their eyes clashed. Anger soared deep within the young girl. "Being a witcher and slaying monsters for coin does not make you a monster," she refuted, coldly. Her voice tried to bite into his emotions. She did not understand the conflict in his decision. To her, there was only one choice of action. He would have to let her go with him.

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Doubt? Sadness? Resentment? Laelithra could not tell. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone. His eyes shone molten gold with fury smoldering in their depths. "Enough! Laelithra, enough," he roared suddenly. It was as if she had goaded a bull. "I'm not a traveling orphanage. The temple is full of girls who have lost their parents in the war. You belong here."

Something within the small child broke. She felt tears surface in her eyes at his words. Swiftly, her hand shot out and connected with his cheek. The slap echoed around the courtyard. Laelithra felt his stubble beneath the palm of her hand. "What do you know about losing your parents? What do you know about blaming yourself for their death? If I could have seen it happen I could have prevented it. His blood was everywhere. I was so scared that the people who killed him would find me."

"Please stop, Laelithra. I apologize."

"If anyone you loved died in your arms, then you would know how I feel. You do not know anything. I can not belong here anymore than you can. Viktor was training me to be a witcher. I don't know why. I was never fast enough or good enough. He threatened to end my life many times because I could not get a simple pirouette right. When he was finally proud of me, he died," the young girl sobbed.

She did not notice Geralt move. Suddenly, she felt his right arm wind itself around her back. It pressed her against his chest, protecting her from the memories of her father and his own looming departure. She heard the deep rumbling of his chest as he breathed, "Shh."

The mare looked upon at the scene as she was lead with the reins by Geralt. Her ears flicked at the display between the two before her.

"I am going to journey with you, Geralt. I have no choice," she cried into the leather of his jerkin. She was surrounded once more by the earthy smell of the witcher. Despite her resistance, it soothed her.

The male witcher did not say anything. He merely stood, holding the reins of the Roach in one hand and Laelithra in the other. She felt the strength of his conviction through his massive embrace. No one could threaten her within the safety of his embrace. His leather jerkin felt rough against her cheek, paradoxically comforting like his calloused fingertips. Everything about Geralt helped to assuage her concerns.

He pushed her away from his embrace. Keeping a hand on her shoulder, he squeezed softly. Geralt's gaze carried a quality unlike any it had before in her presence. There was a predatory look to him, and it sent a chill down Laelithra's spine. She had seen such a look on faces in her past. It was usually accompanied by a request to do something to compensate for the adult's kindness. As her eyes widened, she felt like her insides had frozen solid.

"If you are going to travel with me, then you will do one thing for me," Geralt grumbled. His penetrating, sharp stare bore into her soul. He was the only one who could make her feel naked with just a look. No one else could understand her quite like the witcher. Because of his profession, he was on a solitary path. He was a loner, just like Laelithra.

Here it was at last, Laelithra thought. He would wish repayment for his kindness; grownups always did. Her teeth clenched, gnashing together. She knew it.

Withdrawing his hand from her shoulder, Geralt stepped forward. His boots rang hollowly against the cobblestones paving the roadway. As he moved, the mare moved forward, her hoof beats sounding out loudly. They would not wait on Laelithra. He would always give her the choice of staying with him or striking out on her own. However, Geralt would never tarry for her.

She clenched her tiny fists against her sides. While she was afraid of his cold, penetrating gaze and his rough demeanor, Laelithra could not be without Geralt, never again. Throughout her time with him, she had become reliant on the witcher. He was the one she needed, and he would be the one who would fill her with sorrow if he was murdered. As the hazy light shined down upon him, she made a vow that she would not fail him the way she had failed her father.

As she raced after him, he called over his shoulder, "I want you to do exactly as I say," he commanded, " when I say it." It was a simple request from a simple man.

Laelithra did not care about his restrictions. The only thing she cared about was that she was traveling with the one she now viewed as a father.

Spring was in the air, and she breathed it in deeply. Various floral aromas enveloped her, but the ones that brought her the most comfort were jasmine and cherry blossoms. The sweet scent encircled the two. With joyful abandon, she bounded up onto the stone wall and skipped along, beside the witcher leading his mare.