Bridget Asher - The Provence Cure for the Brokenhearted: Chapter 21, Blood Mountain
"This mountain, the arched back of the earth risen before us, it made me feel humble, like a beggar, just lucky to be here at all, even briefly."

The trees did not yield to the call of gravity as she clambered amongst their branches. They stood proudly upon the barren ground on which they grew, trunks and boughs fixed and unflinching; not even time could touch them. Perhaps its invulnerability to such a force was supposed to cause her fear. Indeed, the lack of life and company was most unpleasant, even the sight of wilted trees and dead grass, as she'd seen before, would have been more welcoming. Yet, this place struck an accord with her; to Ciri it was nought but a wasteland, one amongst many. She'd learnt early on in her travels that death united people as much as life and that amongst all the worlds she'd seen, war was universal. Inevitable, even.

Much of Ciri's life had been spent trying to outrun it. Only within recent years had the hunt ended, with an outcome that had little in her favour. Many sleepless hours had passed within a thought of what worse fates she had avoided, but they were far too few in number. Perhaps she'd inadvertently chosen the worse path. A fool she'd be to think that her life upon a golden throne would pass by with no mention of the monster that had burnt Cintra to the ground and then tried to destroy the life she'd built in its place. Perhaps she was doomed to become a pawn of that which had cast its shadow upon her childish face and introduced her to a darkness that blinded her despite the light of day.

Ciri did not yet know the extent of her sacrifice when she'd accepted Emhyr's offer, the life she desired could be no more different than that which she'd found behind Nilfgaard's high walls, but it was there that she could make a difference. Though, for all her good intentions, war would come. Such was the circle of life and she wondered how many more people would celebrate her death now that the reach of her blade spanned cities. The thought made her sick. As far as she was concerned, Ciri would be glad if time forgot her name and lineage, she had no desire for the blood she'd shed to stain the pages of history.

With a thin line of sweat drenching her brow, Ciri sat for a while amongst the trees, tracing the edges of the rock. She cut her finger on a gnarled branch and pressed a bloody fingerprint upon its immaculate surface, enjoying the sight of colour and life upon the stone. Though tired, she did not linger for long as the thought of the mist grew heavy in her mind. A trail of blood marked the tree trunk as she dropped down to the forest floor and jogged towards the mountain.

Without the cover of the trees, her skin began to crawl in the moonlight as she hugged the mountain's edge. It was the one thing about this land that surprised her, the many moons and stars she'd seen showed no resemblance to that which hung high above her in this Realm. As she craned her neck to watch its crimson hue, Ciri stopped. Something dark had passed over its surface, a shape which now flew above the treetops. It, to, seemed to be aware of another's presence for it quickly turned towards her, two specks of yellow penetrating the grey space that stretched out between them. She watched it with a careful eye and did not lower her weapon when it appeared that danger had passed.

Whether Philippa felt the same sense of pressing uneasiness as she, Ciri couldn't tell, but the Sorceress kept ten paces between them and did not move from where she'd landed. She looked to be another person under this sky, Ciri thought, blemishes disgracing her porcelain face. Copious strands of her hair were out of place, and her dress looked to have been worn for many days. For the first time, she looked more human than painting. However, one thing about her remained unchanged; the biting clarity of her voice.

"Have you seen Triss? The others have gathered at the foot of the mountain, less than two miles the way you're heading, and only she remains unaccounted for." Ciri shook her head and Philippa scowled, though she wasn't quite sure what the Sorceress had expected from her. If they had met in the forest then why would they have parted company? Perhaps she judged Ciri to be done with the thought of company, and on that account, she struck not far from the truth. "I'd not be surprised if she'd not passed through the mist," Philippa continued "but I might still find her crying in the forest, I suppose. Whether she is to be found or not, do not wait for my return."

Ciri did not reply, rarely did the Lady expect answers to be given, and watched the owl take flight from the mountain's side before it began to circle over the tips of the stone forest. The bird was not yet out of sight when Ciri too continued on her way. Her mind found its way to thoughts of Triss as she closed the distance between her and the others, as Philippa had said. The subject was a tricky one but that was not out of the ordinary, never had the matter of Triss been simple since the moment they meet on the road to Kaer Morhen. It was sometimes hard to equate the young Sorceress, who stood in stark contrast to many of her kind, with the harm she'd caused and Ciri often had to remind herself of what had passed while she'd been away.

Confusion was the feeling most pronounced as she remembered all that Geralt had told her on the road to the Sabbath and that which she'd learnt by herself. She'd always liked Triss, indeed she still did, looking upon her as a sister and perhaps that was why her heart was in such a muddle. Ciri had much to thank the Sorceress for and would not willingly part with the memory of their time together, yet she strongly desired to see no more of her than a chance meeting once in a blue moon. Her company was generously given and could be well spent by some, Ciri among them, but for others, her presence carried much trouble with it and it was hard to say whether it was brought or had followed.

Part of her wanted to feel sorry for the other woman, but too much was at stake for her to let slip her guard. There was no room in her little family for a sister, especially not one who desired to be much more than that.

Many worlds had gone by since she'd last stood upon the ocean and felt its rhythm beneath her feet. Ciri found the emptiness of the open water calming, feeling for a moment free of the worries borne by pursuit. The strong breath of the sea ravaged the ship, the wind getting caught within its mighty white sails and bearing it quickly from the continent. Behind closed eyes, she listened to the bough of the ship as it cut through the waves and plunged her mind into the ocean's depths. If there was but one sight she could see before the end of days, and by whomever's hand it may come, be it that of the white frost or of man's, she'd long wished it would be a glimpse of the ocean floor. She'd never had a chance to look upon it in all her travels.

"Crach once told me a tale about you and the sea, Ciri, one I found hard to picture until now." A tap, tap, tapping sounded through her thoughts and a smile graced her face; the smell of the ocean and of labouring men and cheap ale could not mask Yennefer's tell-tale scent, nor hinder its intensity.

As the Sorceress approached her, the eyes of many men upon her, she wondered when last Yennefer had set foot upon a ship's deck and how often she had frequented the sea. Ciri was sure that Yennefer had once professed to her a displeasure for sailing and her hostility towards the water seemed not to have wavered. She was amongst the last board the vessel and did not look upon the water for long.

"What exactly was it that he said, for you to doubt his word?" Ciri asked.

"He told me that you found peace out on the water."

"Why do you find that so strange?" Yennefer laughed faintly, allowing only Ciri's ears to listen to its sound. Too seldom had she heard it, especially within recent days, and little of the light from her smile reached up into her eyes as it had before Rivia...and Vilgefortz. The world was growing dim and cold and she could see its weight upon Yennefer's shoulders, though she did not doubt the sincerity of her laugh.

The Sorceress, who was smaller than her by an inch in spite of her monstrous heels, folded her arms and looked upon Ciri as though she was wasn't only a few feet off the ground. Yennefer's short stature had always amused her and she'd once joked about it when they'd trained at the temple; she'd not made that mistake again.

"Because you were a little beast of a child, Ciri, a fault for which the Witchers are no doubt partly to blame. You acted as though the temple were a cage and would never stay in one place without the force of threats to weight you down. And yet, Crach claimed you'd happily stay within a small wooden tub for days on end, that the waters used to calm you."

"They did and still do for the same reason I suppose. I fell free out here, though you've now made me aware of how odd that sounds."

"It makes sense to me," said Yennefer, her tone peculiarly hushed and muted, Ciri thought, as though the wind had taken the strength from her voice. Over her shoulder, the Sorceress looked out at sea, to all appearances, watching the waves shred the sunlight. But Ciri could see that her eyes were cast downwards and her thin, pencilled eyebrows slightly arched. Ciri waited to see if anything else would follow her words and looked away from Yennefer's face feeling unexplainable intrusive. She saw Geralt standing within the shade of the cabin and noticed his eyes upon Yennefer's back. For a moment they flicked towards her and, taking her glance as an invitation (or perhaps a plea), began to walk across the deck. It was then that the Sorceress spoke again.

"I don't remember much of the place you took us to, Ciri, Geralt and I...but I recall feeling much the way you do here. While the island was small, not much bigger than the space between Kaer Morhen's walls, I felt nothing could reach us out there. That we'd be safe - unreachable."

Ciri shuffled her feet, drawing the heel of her boot against the planks. She'd never heard either Geralt or Yennefer speak of the island before and she'd been too afraid to ask. Wherever the Wild Hunt landed, there was little chance that the grass would grow again or that any life remained there to see the frost pass. When she'd learned what had befallen their island, she did not hold much hope that she'd see Geralt or Yennefer again and despair still held her when she knew their fate. Did they realise how lucky they'd been? Avallac'h was certain in his belief that, even if they'd not perished on the island, neither would survive captivity for long. She'd wept for many nights beneath laden grief.

"Don't ever think like that, Ciri, I won't have it. Do you understand? Never, child, never." A moment passed before she realized what Yennefer was warning her against. Fingers wrapped around the ship's side, the Sorceress had been observing her careful and when Ciri saw her eyes the image of an open book was brought to mind and she began to feel uncomfortably exposed under her scrutiny. Ciri opened her mouth, closed it and nodded. Yennefer sighed and peeled her fingers away from their perch, resting them on the young woman's back and pulling her forwards. "Forget about the island Ciri. I'd have willingly let it go if I'd known it would give Geralt and I the chance to see you again. Treat this as our second chance, child, if we end things now there will never come another reason for us to live our lives apart."

The authority with which she spoke left no room for doubt in Ciri's mind. Whether or not there was truth in Yennefer's words could not yet be witnessed or proven false, but her conviction needed no further proof. Her belief provided all the comfort she needed.

"Yes, Mother."

When the smile adorned Yennefer's face anew, Ciri could see thin lines drawn in the corner of her eyes, edges of her lip reaching up to them. She laughed to think how once the Sorceress' face had appeared to her like stone, cold and unscratched.

Geralt had stood close by as they spoke, watching them with equal measure. Over his shoulder, Ciri could see that some of the crew were still casting glances at them, at times whispering in each other's ears behind raised hands. She would have thought that seasoned travellers, as they had presented themselves to be, would not have been disused to peculiar sights and people, such as those which had commandeered their ship. Though, not all among them were queer or discomforting to behold. Ciri supposed she had an inclination as to what words they might be exchanging, and the look on the Witcher's face roughly confirmed her suspicions.

Yennefer tittered. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Geralt. In fact, its rather unflattering, and I prefer you'd not squander your good looks or else you might truly end up with something to be jealous about. I've always been 'fascinated'," she said satirically, "by lice-ridden, unshaven, cocksure sailors, after all." Ciri laughed as she pictured Yennefer in the arms of the ship's captain, a particularly hideous and unkempt man even as far as sailors went, his shirt covered with so many stains it looked to have been made from patches of different cloth.

The Witcher, on the other hand, didn't display any signs of amusement, rather the opposite. "Not funny, Yen," he rebuked, gesturing with his hand, unfolding and folding his arms.

"Why ever not, Geralt? Or do you not realize how ridiculous you're being?"

Ciri leant back against the side of the ship. One leg tucked slightly beneath her, she waited to see what would happen next, content to act only as a witness. However this might play out, she was sure it would be entertaining. There was a slight pause, the pair watching each other intently.

"Have my reasons," said Geralt, half shrugging. His swords gently clattered as he fidgeted, the wolf heads at their ends gleaming unnaturally bright.

Yennefer cocked her head and spoke slowly and softly in reply. "Hmmm, of course you do."

The Witcher grunted but didn't reply straight away. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flickering between her, Yennefer and the deck. Though it was clear something was on the tip of his tongue, Yennefer didn't urge him to speak, somewhat to Ciri's surprise, and waited with an uncustomary level of tolerance.

"Caught one of them looking into our room last night after I'd gone out for a piss," he said, wrinkling his nose, "and that wasn't all he was doing there."

Ciri felt a little sick; suddenly, the thought of Yennefer and the captain wasn't all that laughable. Though the news came as no surprise, that didn't make it any less revolting, or any easier to stomach. If truth be told, the normality of the incident was what made her stomach turn the most. One of the few things she'd not missed about home.

While Ciri shared in Geralt's disgust, Yennefer showed no reaction. "Yes, I'm aware of our...visitor," she stated with relative calm.

"You are?" Geralt exclaimed.
"Yes, Geralt. Otherwise what would be the point of my saying I did," she goaded, tossing her hair, the sun reflecting off her locks as it did the ocean. The Witcher scuffed his feet but looked mildly annoyed, Yennefer continued as though she'd not noticed. "Just what did you two imagine they were talking about, I wonder. About me? How I was sprawled half-naked across the floor, exposed, ready and waiting for his eyes to grope me. I think not. Do either of you really believe I'd sleep aboard a ship full of raunchy and egotistical men who've spent years, alone, upon the ocean while never touching a drop of water, without precautions? I enchanted our and Ciri's door. If there's one thing I've learnt while staying with you Witchers, it's how perverted men can be. So you needn't worry about him, Geralt. I'm sure he'll think twice before spying on a sleeping lady."

Yennefer was right and Ciri supposed it should come as no surprise that the Sorceress had been wary of unwanted attention, as much (if not more) towards Ciri as towards herself, and taken steps to dissuade curious and entrenching glances. Her statement that she had done so looked to have eased the Witcher, despite the tone and fashion in which the news was delivered.

"Ow, Yen. You gotta make it so personal?" he said.

"The truth can hurt, Geralt, but that's hardly my fault," she replied promptly. Geralt chuckled, shaking his head gently and looking fondly at the Sorceress, who stood proudly half a foot below the top of the Witcher's head.

"What can I say, you just bring out the worst in me." Ciri scrunched up her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She wished she didn't know what Geralt was referring to, but she did and tried not to think about it. She wasn't sure whether they simply didn't care about the images they were conjuring in her mind or if they insisted in believing that she was still ignorant to what they were saying, Ciri couldn't decide. Either way, she thought they should know better and admitted to herself that they probably did.

Yennefer raised an eyebrow at the Witcher, the rest of her face remaining expressionless, as far as Ciri could tell. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?" she asked, her voice and words honeyed.

Unwisely, in her opinion, Geralt didn't answer. "I love you, Yen," he responded.

The Sorceress raised her chin and planted her hands on her hips, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, hips swaying. Without intending to, Ciri looked past the odd couple standing before her and found more eyes upon them. She knew that there was little privacy to be had on a ship, but it still aggravated her. The wind provided some comfort to Ciri, at least, as it whistled in her ear and carried their conversation over the water.

"Don't change the subject, Witcher. I warn you, you shan't talk your way out of this," Yennefer stated, an accusing finger accompanying her raised voice.
Geralt held his hands up, palm towards the Sorceress. "I'm not trying to-"

"Yes, Geralt, you are," she interrupted. "And if you're trying to buy yourself time to come up with something droll or endearing to say, don't. We'll have landed long before then." Yennefer looked to be angry, but to those that knew her well, there were several subtle hints that betrayed her. Ciri could see the corner of her lip twitching as she tried to keep straight-faced, eyes not narrowed but lidded, hiding the light in them.

"Yen...you look ravishing when you're being mean." Ciri rolled her eyes, though there was no one to see. Geralt certainly had a way with flattery, not inherently a good way or a bad way, just a way. She didn't know quite how to describe it but was aware that it worked because Yennefer, begrudgingly, let slip a smile and his charm needn't work on anyone else.

"You're an arse, Geralt!" She shot, taking a step towards him. Their toes were almost touching they were so close, likely unable to see nought but the person before them, and Yennefer had to tilt her head back to look the Witcher in the eye.

At first, he said nothing but glanced briefly over his shoulder to where several men were mopping the deck, which was already glistening in the morning light. When he turned back, Ciri saw his grin widen as he peered down at the Sorceress. "Maybe...but at least I'm not a sailor."

Yennefer hummed. "Mmmmm, true... I suppose that makes you the most eligible man around. That's a first."

"Perhaps I should make the most of it, then." Ciri saw him edge closer to the Sorceress, hooking his fingers around her slender waist as he closed the already small space left between them. Her hands trapped in the middle, Yennefer reached up and wrapped her fingers around the chain of his medallion, the wolf's head shuddering.

"Maybe you should," she purred, tugging at the metal around his neck.

Ciri watched them, for the moment forgotten, thinking how at ease they looked and hoping it would last while knowing that it could not. The sight of land would promise to bring forth all worries lost upon the water and soon they would be plunged into a battle from which none of them might return. If Ciri could have her way, she'd take them back to paradise and let them have no part in this. But there was no hope that either would leave her, or the other, and that, even if they did, their safety could be ensured.

Deeply entangled as they were, Ciri thought best to leave them be. It was getting just that little bit awkward anyhow; it seemed she might not be all that mature after all. She hugged the side of the boat as she walked past, running her hand along the planks of wood, all of which were surprisingly smooth, other than a few holes and scratches oddly dotted about.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Yennefer was still caught up in the Witcher's arms when Ciri turned to face her, perfectly fit beneath his stubbled chin. Geralt was watching her also, but his eyes kept moving past her and he looked to be very pleased with himself. She refrained from rolling her eyes at his childish expression, believing that it was for the best that Yennefer could not see the look he was giving over her head, literally, in fact. It would probably have ruined the moment.

"To see Avallac'h, there's something I need to discuss with him. And yes, it could wait," she admitted, "but I think you two need some time together. You've spent a long while chasing after me, please, take this moment."

"Thanks, Ciri," Geralt replied.

Yennefer stayed silent, watching her with heavy eyes for a stint, as she had before. She had her arms around her, as though warding off the cold in the wind, only, Geralt was wrapped around her. She shouldn't have shivered as she did.

Ciri wasn't kept for long. She thought she saw Geralt brush his lips against Yennefer's ear and for a spell her eye went dull and misty until the Witcher squeezed her shoulder. "Very well," she said, head inclined, "but if you may, be quick about it. Give your Mother a chance to talk with you a while, it's not fair that he should keep your company for too long."

"I shall be, I promise."

The deck squeaked under the soles of her shoes as she walked carefully amongst the sailors and their mops. She had her hand on the door which lead to the lower deck when something caught her eye. Turning her head she glimpsed a flash of red or brown, she wasn't certain which, through a small window which looked out from the captain's cabin. Her better judgement told her to leave it be, but as usual, her instincts won her over and Ciri moved towards the other door.

Something hot pricked her feet and a rush of warmth raced from her toes to the tip of her ears, dissipating almost as soon as it had come. Her hand, which was still grasping the handle to the captain's cabin, tingled and the hairs of her right arm were erect. Ciri almost let go of the door, wishing to shake off the feeling that something was crawling up her back, but the thought of having to re-experience whatever rush of magic that just was kept her hand still. Before she could change her mind, Ciri quickly turned the handle and swung the door open.

The interior was decorated about as well as most roadside taverns, which left it of remarkable quality compared to what lay behind the second door. There was a double bed at the back of the room which took up almost a third of the space and the little room which was left had been dedicated to a desk under the window through which she'd looked, and a locked closet screwed to the wall. Philippa Eilhart was reclined in a rather luxurious wooden chair at the far end, one that most definitely didn't belong to the captain. Beside her was Margarita Laux-Antille, sitting upon the bed with a bundle of bloody bandages piled nearby on the floor. None of this, however, Ciri saw.

Standing in the doorway, she peered around the corner where her eyes fell upon the old desk and the woman standing by the window. Triss was leaning against the wooden top, palms spread upon several scattered pieces of parchment, an ink pot and feathered quill near at hand. Her mouth was slightly ajar but was hastily snapped shut. As Ciri eyed the Sorceress' face, something strange overtook her and words dropped unbidden from her lips.

"Leave them be, Triss. For once, leave them be."

Ciri slammed the door behind her.

Not another glimpse of life did Ciri spy until near on an hour had passed. The cover of the trees ended abruptly, stones set back from the path which cut up into the mountain. A little above her head, several metres up, Geralt was sat upon a ledge staring out into the mist. Spotting her, the Witcher drew his legs back over the side and started climbing down to meet her. For a moment, they stood opposite one another, eyes uncertainly flickering back and forth, between a face and the barren mountain. It was Geralt who held his gaze for the longest, eyes piercingly bright in his face which looked drained of colour.

By his side, he kept clenching and unclenching his hand and his arm was twitching. She could see a smattering of red upon his knuckles. Ciri didn't ask, she didn't want to know, and it probably wouldn't have helped because there was nothing to say. Instead, she hugged him and the Witcher pulled her close against his chest. He didn't seem like a stranger anymore, and Ciri realised how much she'd missed him and how much she regretted all she'd said and done on the path to the mountain. She wanted to apologize but could no longer recall what it was she was sorry for, only that she was sorry for it. When they pulled apart, she knew he felt the same, or near enough to it, and she felt better for seeing it.

Together they walked back up to the ledge, climbing the steps cut from the mountain. Ciri was surprised at how smooth and even they were, expertly crafted like the marble steps in Vizima. She wondered just what they were doing here, thinking of how unnecessary they were upon a desolate rock as this place appeared to be. It made her uncomfortable for reasons she couldn't put into words.

Now upon the ledge, from which she'd first spied Geralt, Ciri saw two figures awaiting them. Dandelion, who sat with his back against the mountain, briefly looked in her direction as she walked past and Ciri halted by his feet. His knees were drawn close to his chest, his eyes were bloodshot and his face streaked. On the stones where he sat, there was a stain. It looked to be a watermark, though Ciri had seen no signs of a pool or river or of rain here. She looked sideways at the Witcher who shrugged and shook his head. What had happened since he'd spoken to her, Ciri couldn't guess, and it was clear no answer would come from Dandelion. Whatever it was it had taken the Bard's tongue, and that scared her.

Ciri turned her attention now to the second person who was sitting upon the steps which lead further up the mountain. It was Triss.
"Where's Philippa?" Ciri asked, looking at the Sorceress. Triss, who'd been staring ahead, snapped her head to the side and stared at Ciri with wide eyes. "Where's Philippa," she repeated.

Triss looked at her, blinking several times as though awoken abruptly from a dream. She had beautiful eyes, Ciri thought, though she disliked that little ever changed about them; not like Yennefer's did. They were large and clear, giving her the facade of childish ignorance, one that was profoundly true. Triss was learned, more so than Ciri, yet between them she was less experienced and in a sense, less mature. She'd never understood how the woman had ended up a Sorceress, especially one who dabbled in politics and matters of magic, of life and of state. If she'd only seen half of what Ciri had been through, it would much change her, she believed.

"I'm not sure. I haven't seen her since she went into the mist after you, Ciri," Triss replied after a short while.

The sense of uneasiness that had settled within Ciri upon reaching the mountain stirred and quivered. This was all very wrong, inexplicably so. How could Philippa have missed Triss when she herself was spotted? It stands to reason that the Sorceress must have been closer to the mountain path than she and yet been undetected and thought lost. Ciri looked skywards, hoping to find the solution there, but though she could see for miles all was still. Aware that the others were watching her, Ciri relayed her encounter with the owl in the forest and of the conversation they'd had. She saw her own confusion and concern mirrored in their faces.

After a brief discussion, it was decided that they would wait for a spell upon the ledge to see if Philippa would return, and they did just that. Not even Geralt caught any sign of her. Ciri didn't want to leave without the Sorceress but decided, uneasily, that it would be best to obey her command and not tally at the foot of the mountain. Though no one was willing to say it aloud, the same thought rang in their heads. If they were to leave now, it was improbable that they'd meet with Philippa again.

Even as she circled around the island for the third time, Philippa was still far from convinced that Triss was worth all this effort. For one, it was uncomfortable. Her skin was hot and itchy and she could feel that feathers pricking at her flesh. It wasn't that the form was particularly painful, there'd be no point in learning this magic if it were so, but it was exceedingly uncomfortable. She also disliked spending extended periods of time in animal form. Ever since the business with the dimeritium shackle, Philippa had never been at ease while transformed and the thought of once again being treated like a mindless animal - as a pet - filled her with enough rage to forget her humiliation. At least, it normally did.

When Yennefer had learnt what happened, and proceeded to let her in on that fact, there had only been shame. She'd laughed right in her face, daring to mock her as no one else would. Philippa had waved it off, of course, making some defensive or sardonic remark that she couldn't recall only remembering that she'd made Yennefer angry. Philippa didn't see her for almost a day after that, and when Yennefer came back, she was more vexed than before. She'd rescued Rita that night, her and her Witcher, and Philippa helped her tend to the woman, though there was little she could do but heal and bandage her. Her fellow sister of the Lodge uttered no words as she was treated, right up until Yennefer had made to leave.

She was halfway through the door when Rita stopped her dead in her tracks. How, she asked, how had Yennefer done it. How had she survived Vilgefortz and Stygga castle almost unchanged, what had kept her together? Rita begged to know. Yennefer had not answered at first, nor did she move from the doorway, lost in thought as Philippa believed she was. Rita had begun to sink back into bed when an answer she was given. Not a what, Rita, Yennefer had murmured, but a who. Two, in fact. Back in Corvo Bianco, in the real world, their world, she'd seen Yennefer's words realised in practice and presently she wondered if Yennefer had ever thought of her in this place.

By now, Philippa had almost finished going around the island and was resigned to the fact that Triss was probably lost in the mist, if not beyond it. Though it wasn't good news, the Sorceress did not feel any real sense of loss. It was true that she would have preferred to find the woman, if only to have another magician along for the journey, but things might work out better this way. They hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms, Yennefer and Triss, and the latter's skills might be of more use in Corvo Bianco.

When she'd completed the loop, Philippa descended into the forest and rested for a while, as a human, beneath their branches. Not long after she'd made herself comfortable, lying upon a fallen trunk, Philippa was disturbed. She lay still and flat against the stone, listening. After a few seconds, she took off deeper into the forest. Someone was singing, and she needed to know who.

Rick Yancey - The 5th Wave: Chapter 22, Death's Statues
"We'd stared into the face of Death, and Death blinked first. You'd think that would make us feel brave and invincible. It didn't."

I mean, technically its been over a month since the last update. But...its still within the next month so...I'm counting this as a victory. Also, it's another looooooong one. Almost 6k again...yikes. Anyhow, I digress. Hope you enjoyed this latest update and the fluff. If you did (or even if your didn't) please consider leaving a comment, that would be wonderful! :D

PS: I've been listening to more Lord of the Rings... Can you tell?!