-Velen, outside the village of Toderas-
It felt like an eternity for the both of them. Him, sitting in bed and looking down at his hands. Her, sprawled out on the floor with her eyes fixed on him. The witcher was the first one to speak.
"I'm sorry. I thought I was somewhere else." He raised his head, seeking her eyes. He couldn't really tell if she was scared or just surprised, since her eyes were the only thing he could actually see. They shone green, much like the canopies of Brokilon.
She collected herself, stood up and fetched the clog that had taken off across the room after her involuntary flight.
"I...", she started. This wasn't really what she had pictured in her mind when they would have their first official meeting. "I'm sorry, I should have been more careful. Forgive me."
The witcher started to stir.
"Please, remain where you are. Tell me what you need". She looked at him and added "You're seriously hurt. I feared for your life, I still do. So please, tell me what you need and I'll see to it." Is he honestly trying to get out of bed?
"I... had a medallion. Like the one I wear around my neck." The witcher paused and looked away. "Do you have it?" Please, tell me you do.
"I'm sorry, witcher. I never saw another."
He shifted. Pulled up his legs closer to his body and put his face in his hands. He felt the feeling again, the feeling of total dispair. Second by second, it consumed him even more. It felt like drowning. Drowning from within. He couldn't draw his breath, he felt lightheaded. He felt weak.
Flashes of her and her emerald eyes. Her eyes will always be his undoing.
I don't feel a thing anymore.
When he finally let go, there was no going back. He accepted to drown.
The display shook her. She just stood there, watching. It took a while until she came back to herself, and walked toward the bed. The witcher was grief-stricken, she concluded. Not at all what she had expected.
She carefully made herself known to him by touching his arm before she sat down beside him. She wasn't going to fly across the room again, not anytime soon.
She knew this cycle all to well, and found herself strangely comfortable in dealing with sorrow and grief. She had seen it in all its constellations. Death, love lost, disappointments. The cycle always play out in the exact same way.
She put both of her hands on the witcher's arm, and dared to lean in a little. His shoulders shook uncontrollably.
"I'm so sorry." She wasn't really expecting any answers, people generally couldn't muster the strength to do so in situations like this. "It's better to let it out, witcher. Some drown their sorrows with alcohol, some seek the comfort of another's... hm, embrace, some keep it buried deep inside. But I promise you, it will pass." It always does.
The witcher wailed into his hands. A muffled but yet intense sound. She decided to do what she always have been when encountering a person the the deepest darkness of their own. She held him until his shaking subsided.
The witcher woke the next morning. Apart from hurting due to his wounds, he felt drained. Empty. He tried to remember what had happened after he had found the medallion some days back, but realised that it was impossible. He felt his heart clench.
Trying his best to distract himself, he slowly rolled over from his back to his right side. He winced.
"Are you awake?"
The witcher turned his head toward the sound of the female voice. He couldn't see her, he guessed she was in another room.
"I'll be there in a mom ent. Please stay where you are."
She had a pleasant voice, the witcher thought to himself. He suddenly remembered, with a feeling that one can have when remembering a dream, that he had almost given her a wallop. He felt ashamed. He knew that he had to apologise for that.
The woman came out from a room further in. She was carrying a tray. The witcher inspected her as she came towards him. She wore a simple, lightly coloured dress. On top of it, an apron. Her hair was tied up with a headscarf, but a lock of red hair had escaped it and cascaded down the side of her face. When she came closer, he yet again noticed her green eyes. And the cloth she wore over her nose and mouth. Her clogs clipped-clopped as she stopped in front of him.
"Good to see that you're awake, witcher", she said. "I brought you some broth, if you'd like".
"Thank you", the witcher said whilst trying to sit up. He groaned slightly.
"Here, let me help you", the woman said as she hurriedly put down the tray on the footstool next to the bed. She grabbed him underneath his arms. "Ready? There", she said when the witcher was propped up in a sitting position.
She handed him the bowl with steaming broth and placed herself on the bed.
"I... I'm so sorry. I think I slapped you", the witcher said after downing a spoonful.
"No need," the woman replied in an embarrassed voice. "It was nothing more than a push. You apologised yesterday, so don't mind."
The witcher felt her gaze on him when he turned his focus on the broth. He felt a little bit bothered by it, but told himself that she probably wants to make sure that he was doing fine.
"Thank you", he said, putting the bowl on the tray next to the bed.
She nodded. "I never got the chance yesterday witcher. I'd like to introduce myself. I'm Lith." She extended her hand.
"Geralt. Geralt of Rivia", the witcher replied and shook her hand.
"So, now that we are aquainted, let's make something of this day, shall we?"
Lith was a really effective woman, Geralt thought to himself. After she had served him broth, she had fetched her razor and told him that it was time for a shave. Geralt opposed the idea at first, but agreed that she had a point since inspecting his wound would definitely be easier once he was clean-shaved.
"You know", Lith said after a moment's silence. "I tried to do this very thing yesterday, but I'm not sure if you were aware. I nicked you, and that's when my clogs went flying". She gave him a quick look and returned to handling the razor.
"I'm sorry, Lith", Geralt said. "Witchers have extraordinary reflexes, I'm not sure if I was even aware". A lot of things happen by pure instinct.
"Again, Geralt. No need. Tilt your head back, please."
Geralt closed his eyes, and leaned back a little. She had soft, warm hands and was, as he already had decided for himself, very effective.
"Geralt, I'm going to shave your left side now. That's where your wound is so it's imperative that you sit still".
"Mhm", Geralt responded.
She switched sides with Geralt, walking over to the other side of the bed.
"Hold this, please." She gave him the bowl with hot water and looked at the soap suds, dancing on the surface.
She worked her way towards the wound in portions, starting with shaving Geralt's face and then continuing to the area around the wound.
"Geralt", she said and removed the razor from his neck.
"Mhm", he responded.
"What is it that you witchers do, exactly?"
"Well", Geralt said, still with his eyes closed and his head tilted back. "We hunt monsters, mostly. For coin. Sometimes, we get other contracts."
"That has nothing to do with monsters?"
"I have learned that monsters aren't always the ones with claws and fangs. But yes, one can say we get contracts without monsters too."
How right he is, she tought to himself. She returned to shaving him, getting closer to the ominous wound on his neck. After carefully maneuvering the razor around the edges of the wound, she concluded that she couldn't really go any closer. Still, it was now much easier to see the wound itself.
It looked like something had sunk its claws in the witcher's neck, and slashed away. Where the actual puncture had happened, the wound looked deep and it was discharging. She felt around the edges of the wound, and was horrified to feel something inside it.
"You felt that, right", Geralt said.
"I do. I'm not sure if I dare to take it out, though. Not to happy about leaving it there, either."
"Don't bother. It can stay where it is."
"But Geralt, some beasts have...", she started.
Geralt interrupted her "...venom sacks in their claws which could prove to be fatal if left inside the human body. Lith, I'm a witcher. I have a heightened tolerance against substances. I can deal with toxicity in a much higher degree. I'm serious, don't bother."
"I really must advise...", Lith started.
"Leave it!" Geralt grabbed her wrists and gave her a look she wouldn't dare to oppose.
"Fine", she replied and slowly pulled her wrists out of the witcher's grip.