Heaving a sigh, Oslan tossed another stone and watched it clatter down the hillside. It was times like these when he really missed those two morons. Nothing happened on Spikeroog. There was just the occasional sailor asking him to clear a nest of sirens or drowners from their shipping route.

Andryk and Kozin, they'd probably be pulling their hair out with frustration. Where were all the dangerous contracts? The exciting, bloodthirsty monsters? To be honest, that wasn't what bothered Oslan.

He'd been in a village earlier—Svorlag, if he recalled correctly. He hadn't gone there to look for work, but rather to rest his feet. His horse was gone, given to Kozin after the black-haired witcher had lost his in the Coille na Draíocht. Svorlag was small but lively, an oasis of teeming life on an otherwise bleak island. Oslan had deliberately avoided any tavern or inn—he wasn't quite ready to be surrounded by people again just yet. A barrel on an empty dock proved to be a peaceful little spot for the travel-worn witcher. The silence was refreshing, and the gentle slapping of water on the gravelly shore reminded him of home. There were only two other people nearby, and it wasn't long before Oslan focused his attention on them. They were several yards further up the shore, but Oslan could observe them just as well as if they were right next to him.

It was a man and his son. The father was teaching the child how to tie proper knots for sailing. He gently guided the boy through the slips and loops, and praised him when he finally achieved the knot. Oslan watched them, his brow clenched into a small frown.

He hadn't realized this part about himself until now. Kozin and Andryk had always been there to make him feel better, to distract him from how he truly felt. But there was no denying it now. He never wanted this. He never asked to be dumped onto the island. He never asked to be dragged to that cliff and be changed into something that could never be normal again.

But then again, neither did any witcher. But at least Kozin and Andryk had been given the privilege and seeing their parents hand them over. Oslan had never seen his parents. The Law of Surprise promised him to the school; a newborn snatched as soon as it had taken its first breath.

Normal—how did such a harmless word seem so cruel? It mocked him, taunting him with what had been stolen from him before he had even left the womb. And he'd never be able to get it back, not when he couldn't look people in the eyes without having them reel back from his.

Oslan tore his envious glare from the father and son. He stood, slinging his pack over his shoulder, and headed back into Svorlag. Almost immediately, he was greeted by a man rushing up to him, crying out, "Witcher! Please, I need your help!"

The mournful thoughts that had been brooding in Oslan's head were pushed to the back. "What's wrong?"

"It's my daughter," the man said, his voice soft with panic. "She hasn't been seen since dawn."

"It's only a little past midday," Oslan pointed out.

"She's awfully shy, never strays too far from the house," the man said. "She told her mother she'd be reading in the barn. We searched the barn, searched the entire village! She's been taken, my little Arda!"

"It'll be okay," Oslan reassured. "Tell me what you can, and I'll get her back. Who could have taken her? Anyone here with a grudge against you?"

"Nay, nay, it's not been like that. She's been taken to Melusine! I'm sure of it!"

"Who is that?"

The man pointed to the path that trailed from the village and up the mountain. "There's a mess of caves on the other side of the mountain," he explained. "Folks say there lives a dark goddess. She'd swoop down, and the last thing the sorry bastard sees is her black wings. People started getting radge with fear, and some crazies started the habit of bringing live offerings up to her caves to keep her from the village. That's where they've taken her, witcher! Please, I'm begging you! Don't let Melusine take my Arda!"

"Calm yourself," Oslan said, his eyes rising up along the path. "Melusine…"

"What of her?"

"I'm no expert on the divine, but I'm sure goddesses don't eat people." He quickly reflected back on what the man had told him. Large wings. And she nested in a seaside cave. He figured he knew what this 'goddess' was. "I'll go up the mountain. Stay here, and await my return."

The trek up the mountain was a long one. Svorlag was nestled comfortably against the base of the mountain where the sea caressed the rocks. Oslan's legs tirelessly carried him up the ascending path. The sack with his potions and supplies bounced against his back as he weaved through the jagged terrain. While he climbed, he spotted the disturbed dirt, the upturned pebbles, that told him someone had been here recently.

The whistling of wind racing through caves met his ears. Voices. And a shrieking girl. Oslan quickened his pace. He came around a large boulder and saw them.

The path wrapped inwards towards the center of the mountain and ended abruptly in a cliff. There were three men at the edge of the cliff. One of them was bent down, fastening the ropes that tied a young girl to a wooden post. The other two were peering at the cluster of caves that dotted the mountainside. "Melusine!" one called out. "We bring an offering to satiate your hunger! Take it, and leave the village in peace!"

The one tying the ropes heard Oslan's approached and spotted the witcher. He alerted the other two. They all turned to face him, their faces cold. "Oi, Cat-Eyes! Leave us to our business! This is for the good of the village!"

"You're all fools!" Oslan growled back. "Can't you see your Melusine is nothing but a—." A deep rustling and low-pitched snarl emitted from the caves, echoing in the tunnels. Fear replaced the hostile expressions of the men as they looked over to the caves.

"There she is! She's emerging! Fucking go!" one of them bellowed to his paralyzed companion, giving him a harsh shove. They bolted, shoving past Oslan as the witcher rushed forward. Drawing the silver sword, he quickly cut the girl's ropes with the tip of his blade. Just as the ropes slacked and her wrists came free, Oslan saw a black streak shoot from a cave. It flew high up into the air and then slowed, throwing its wide wings open and engulfing the entire cliff in shadow.

Arda looked up at it in horror. Oslan kept his eyes lowered, instead staring at the girl. It was a ploy that clever winged monsters often used—to trick one into looking up at them. When the creature commenced its attack, it would fold its wings in and allow the sun to blind its prey.

Instead, he listened to Melusine circling above, pinpointing her location in sky through the flapping of wind against her wings and her rough breathing.

Oslan reached down and pulled the girl up. "Don't look at it," he warned her. "Just run. Go!" He stepped aside and Arda darted away. He heard the swoosh of wind as Melusine quickly changed her course. It was clear that she was not going to let her offering get away. With his other hand, Oslan reached behind to the crossbow on his back.

There was a loud crash as Melusine landed on the path, blocking the girl. Loosened rubble was sent clattering down the mountainside. Arda screamed. A clawed hand swiped at her and missed as Oslan pulled her back. Yanking the girl behind him, Oslan quickly raised the crossbow and fired. The bolt embedded itself deep into the shoulder, and Melusine howled.

Now that they were practically face-to-face, Oslan's suspicions were confirmed. Melusine was an ekhidna.

He'd never seen an ekhidna until now. Back at the school, he'd been told that ekhidnas were a variant of sirens. When asked what the difference between the two was, Master Brimir had replied, "An ekhidna is like a siren when you've told her that her sister is prettier."

Thick blood trickled down Melusine's pale shoulder. She let out another screech and launched herself back into the air. The gust of wind she left in her wake slapped Oslan, forcing him to shield his face. He quickly recovered and pulled another bolt from the strap on his chest. "Stay close to me," he told Arda, cocking back the crossbow's drawstring. She didn't need to be told twice and cowered behind him. Oslan stared at the glittering water in the distance as he listened to the sounds of Melusine's flight. She was circling above them, waiting for the girl to become vulnerable again.

Oslan shut his eyes, letting his breaths become long and slow as he strained his ears. He honed in on the sound of her wings pushing the air, timing her spirals. Then, in a quick motion, he raised the crossbow and fired. He heard the drawstring reverberating, the bolt slicing through the air, and, finally, the sound of struck flesh. Melusine let out a pained scream and began to descend. She landed on the cliff, her large tail snapping the wooden post and knocking it over the edge. Oslan knew she would only be in this vulnerable state for a few precious seconds. He flew towards her, closing the distance between them in a flash, and struck a deep slash across her collarbones with his silver sword. Her furious cry pierced his ears. He wasted no time and smashed the pommel of his weapon against her flat, bat-like snout.

The ekhidna rebounded incredibly quickly from the blow and swiped at the witcher with the long talons at the end of her wing. Oslan raised his blade and swiftly parried, throwing her claws back. In a flash, he sunk his blade into her torso.

Melusine pulled back, freeing her body from the burning silver, and returned to the air. Oslan had succeeded in giving her a few good wounds, but she showed no sign of fatigue. The crossbow returned to the witcher's hands. A few more rounds of this, and the ekhidna was bound to become weak enough to finally kill.

But Mesuline was learning. She wasn't about to give Oslan another chance with the crossbow. She quickly dove down in front of the two and blew a powerful torrent of wind at them with a stroke of her wings. Oslan steeled himself enough to only stumble back a few steps. He noticed Arda at the very last moment as she was thrown back. Oslan grabbed for her, but she hit the mountainside, bounced forward, and teetered over the edge of the path. Diving forward onto his stomach, Oslan shot a hand out and caught the girl by her wrist before she fell down onto the rocks below. He began to pull her up, slowly raising himself up from the edge of the path, when suddenly a searing, fiery pain shot through his abdomen. A shuddering cry escaped Oslan as the pain squeezed the very air from his lungs. He slammed back against the rock as Melusine's long talon pinned him against the ground like an insect. He felt the monster's hot, rancid breath against the back of his neck. Suddenly, she latched onto his shoulder and neck with her teeth.

Oslan gritted his teeth, his sight blurred from the tears that welled in his eyes. He swung his arm in a wide arc and threw Arda back onto the path. Then, with his free hand, he reached back and grabbed a fistful of the short fur on Melusine's head. He ripped his arm away as hard as he could, feeling flesh and fur come away in his hand.

The ekhidna released her jaws from his flesh to screech. She quickly scurried off of him and dove back into the air. Oslan unclenched his jaw and screamed as he felt the burning of her talon leaving his stomach. His hand scrabbled for the crossbow. With a tense groan, the witcher staggered to his feet as Melusine circled around for him. He weakly raised the crossbow, but it was too late. The ekhidna flew into him, slamming him against the mountainside. He felt her clawed hands dig into his flesh. She pulled him away from the wall. Oslan's boots dragged momentarily against the ground, and then dangled helplessly in the air. Oslan saw the mountainside, the path, and Arda, begin to grow smaller as Melusine carried him through the air.

Whatever this bitch had planned for him, it wasn't going to happen. He knew that for certain. From a small sheath on the front of his shoulder, Oslan pulled a saw-toothed bone dagger. Again and again, he struck at any flesh he could reach. Most of his stabs were rendered useless by the ekhidna's tough hide, though some managed to draw blood. Out of the corner of his eye, Oslan saw that they were headed towards the open sea. Melusine was trying to take him out to the water where she could drown him.

His arm shot up and grabbed hers. He pulled himself up closer to her and stabbed again. The blade sunk into its target—the thin, rubbery skin of her wing. Melusine yowled her protest. The blade was pulled down, dragging a growing tear through the membrane. Shrieking, the ekhidna finally decided that this witcher was more trouble than he was worth. The tightness of her claws in his skin vanished as she released him.

Oslan felt his stomach fly up to his throat as he plummeted away from the shadowy figure. His limp body flipped over and over again, and he caught glimpses of the rocky shore that awaited him. He hadn't timed his escape properly, and now he was going to pay for it. In that small bit of infinity before he hit the ground, he wondered whether he'd see his brothers again.

Fate was kind to him. When he finally reached the ground, his body was oriented upward, as though he were standing. The bottom of his right foot was the first to meet the wet rocks. The shock traveled up through his leg, and his femur took the brunt of it. Then, the rest of his body came crashing down. He tumbled a short distance across the jagged shore and came to a slow stop. He was facing upwards. The sky was clear above him. No ekhidna in sight. He couldn't hear her, but that was because he heard nothing but his dull heartbeat and labored breathing. The small tide pools around him were quickly becoming saturated in red.

His hand fumbled to the open wound in his stomach where Melusine had skewered him. He had to close it. Otherwise it would be the end of him.

Oslan strenuously pushed himself up, grinding his teeth together as the pain in his stomach became nearly unbearable. Propped up, he looked down at the wound. The ragged edges of his torn tunic were soaked and stuck to his skin. As he gave another shuddering exhale, a gush of blood erupted from the wound and quickly spread into the already-darkened cloth.

As he shifted his body to reach for the hem of his tunic, a new pain coursed through his body. This one came from his right leg. He couldn't move it. Oslan raised himself up higher and saw the rough, white tip of broken bone jutting out from his crooked leg, right above the knee. His breathing became more haggard as a tiny part of his mind wondered how he was going to survive like this. He wasn't.

Oslan cast the thoughts from his head as he once again reached down for the hem and tore off a large chunk of cloth. He balled the cloth in his trembling fist. And then he hesitated despite the fact that he knew he was dying. Through his light-headedness, he grew weary. He was afraid of the pain he knew would soon follow. But with one last clench of the cloth, he quickly readied himself and reached down to the wound.

Even the lightest touch sent torrents of pain coursing through his body. In sharp, jolting movements, Oslan started shoving the cloth into the open wound. He couldn't prevent the manifestations of that fiery, white-hot pain from escaping his lips as he continued to cram the cloth into his stomach. The blackness that had lingered around the edge of his vision began to creep in, and a high-pitched whine filled his ears. He'd only just pushed the last bit of cloth into the wound when his consciousness finally slipped and he fell limp against the wet rocks.

"Mince and bull!" a Bear witcher cried as he wiped the beer foam from his lip. "There's no way you survived something like that, 'less you're exaggerating or talking out your arse!"

Oslan, on the other side of the table, glared at the witcher. "I'm telling it as it happened!" he argued. "I didn't make a shred of it up!" He looked around him to get backing from his friends. Only Andryk was there. "Where did Ko dally off to?" The red-haired man shrugged.

"I'm telling you, you wouldn't have gotten back from that even if you guzzled down a whole barrel of swallow!"

"I commend you for such sharp thinking in that moment of desperation. Not many would think to pack their own wound. Keep in mind, a witcher's life does not solely balance on potions," came Undevar's quiet voice from where he sat at the long table. "Knowledge of basic aid is invaluable." The tip of Aegis's nose appeared above the table next to the grandmaster, and then her entire warped face surfaced as she sniffed at his plate. Undevar gently pushed her down and continued, "And despite that, I lament that even some of our esteemed masters have terrible grasps on the art of healing." Alarmed faces turned to him. Undevar met the eyes of one Master Galon. "It should be multiple compressions, not one great one."

Addendum: It took everything within me not to rewrite the part where Oslan hits the ground and make him sit up, hold his fucked-to-high-hell leg, and go, "SSSSS... AAAHHHH" like in Family Guy.