EPILOGUE
Once again, he'd taken off without saying anything. It was easier that way. Much easier.
The night was cold on his naked body. He walked slowly, feeling his battered body protesting with every step. Getting outside was a challenge to him, trying to be as quiet as he possibly could. Still, a heavily injured witcher is still much quieter than the average person.
He walked down towards the field, hearing the horses as he did. There, a shed. Probably where his things were, he guessed . He'd found nothing except for his alchemy box in the cottage. He entered, and saw his belongings neatly organised. He searched through the saddlebags and pulled out a simple shirt and trousers. Getting dressed was almost a mockery, the pain was almost insufferable. No time to waste, he had to work faster.
He opened the little wooden box he'd carried with him, trying to sort through and mix the different components. Something for the pain. Something to energise. He downed the two potions, not even tasting the bitterness.
Now, for the tack. The saddle was disgustingly heavy as he exited the shed and walked the few steps to the fence. He didn't whistle. There was no need, the bay mare had come up to greet him as soon as she saw him. She exhaled, a warm scent of grass and thistles.
"Not now, Roach."
He felt annoyed. Bridling the mare was more difficult than he'd expected. The potion wasn't as effective as he'd hoped, the pain was blinding. The mare accepted the bit, but pulling the neck piece over and behind her ears was tough since she wouldn't put her head down. His arm and side where throbbing.
If bridling the mare was difficult, saddling her was nearly impossible. He thought of leaving the saddle, but realised that he wouldn't last long bareback. The mare stood quietly, watching her master try time and time again. After several pathetic attempts, he somehow got the saddle on. Not by conventional means. He tightened the girth and walked out of the pasture, followed by the mare.
He had stuffed everything he possibly could in the saddlebags. Having something on him, wearing anything, was something he wanted to avoid. He pondered about the swords, maybe he could wear them the usual way? No, he concluded. He fastened the swords to the saddle. Sure, they would probably flop around as the horse moved, but that would have to work.
Mounting. He opted out, no gymnastics today. He found a crate to give him some elevation, and he slowly put his foot in the stirrup whilst holding on to the mane of the mare. A jolt of pain almost made him faint as he threw his leg over the mare's back. He caught his breath, waited for the dancing dots to disappear from his eyes. He squeezed the mare's sides with his legs, telling her to walk on. No need to turn around, to see what he was about to leave behind.
The grey gelding trotted next to them, on his side of the fence. He was apparently distraught not being able to follow them. He let out an ear-piercing neigh.
"Go, Roach!" Geralt gathered the reins and kicked the sides of the mare, who quickly started to canter, down the road. Away from the small cottage outside Toderas.
He must have been riding for quite some time. The moon had walked on its usual trajectory, staying low just above the trees. Ready to disappear.
The wind was picking up. Dressed only in a shirt and trousers, he knew that he would have to find somewhere to rest. At least for a bit. Make a fire. He doubted he would be able to cast a sign.
Pain. A mind-numbing pain shot through his body. He pulled on the reins, getting the mare to slow down. Trying to hold on the the pommel to remain upright. The mare stopped as she felt her master losing his balance, sliding down her right side.
As Geralt saw his horse from below, he noticed that it had started to snow. Soft, icy flakes landing on his face, melting away as quickly as they touched him. He'd decided. He would ride for Kaer Morhen. Spending the winter there, like many times before. Like a wolf in its den. Licking its wounds.
He coughed. He never saw the spray of blood leaving his lips.
She woke up with a jolt to a horse's neigh. No. No!
She jumped out of bed, taking the woolen blanket with her as she leapt and tossed it around her in one swift motion. She made it to the door, flung it open, and saw a bay mare canter down into the woods.
She went inside. He'd left. She went back to the bed and sat down. This was not the way she had portrayed it in her mind, the way they would part. If he'd waited. If he'd waited, just a couple of hours more.
In the corner of her eye, she saw something glistening. Turning her head, she felt an overwhelming panic. A silver medallion lay next to the bed, glistening as it caught the light from the hearth. A medallion depicting a wolf.
With tears welling from her eyes, she picked it up. What was that, something fell on the floor? A note.
"For you. Do with it as you see fit. Thank you." No. No. NO!
She left the medallion on the bed.
It feels coarse. Prickly.
It was the last thought she'd ever have, taking the step out that would lead her to oblivion. And as she felt the last heartbeats she would ever feel, drew the last breath she would ever draw, a silver medallion fell from her twitching hands on the floor.
A medallion. The last thing she ever saw. Slowly resonating with its kin, on the other side of the room.
-THE END-
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