Shit. Shit! His wide cat's pupils swept over and past her position in the weeds. They glinted like an animal's catching the light of a sconce. A single scar split his left eye from forehead to cheek. While he hadn't seen her, she still feared his ability to hear the rattling nerves in her breast. Quietly, she inhaled a slow breath, exhaling it just as slowly. Steady. It was then he spied the garments she had discarded.
"A sorceress… and a bloodied one at that. Lovely." He growled. The corner of his mouth twitched into a snarl as he lifted her vest by the only stainless patch he could find. He dropped it again, repulsed. A puff of dust rose and fell back into the foliage as it hit the ground. Geralt hissed a quick high whistle. A few yards from where she was now hiding, a tawny mare plodded into the glade. If I had made it a few meters farther, she would have exposed me.
"What d'you think, Roach? Stay or no?" As if in response, the mare snorted loudly, "Mnh. Agreed." Geralt took the horse by the reins and led her as far away from the burning corpse as was possible while maintaining her in his field of vision, "You might not need that reeking heat, but I do." He patted her snout, returned alone to the fire with his back to the sorceress, took a seat, crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and sunk into a state of meditation. Her heart was now clanking uncontrollably. Now what? She had not anticipated this in the slightest. This witching hour hadn't given her cause to think she would, no- could have human company. Her brains felt scrambled by the witcher's murderous reputation. Before she left the scene in town, she had been witnessed (by no less than ten bystanders) acting in clear self-defense. For all the residents knew, she was innocent of any crime. Which of her attackers was left alive to send this mercenary after her? Cursing her heedlessness, she stewed over her options. She could only just make out Geralt's shoulders moving rhythmically at the rate of his breath. The tightening and untightening of the seams of his jerkin reminded her naked limbs of the stinging cold. She wrung the filthy kerchief over and over and over in her hands, pressing her arms and legs closely to her center for warmth.
Leaving the encampment was a long shot. She was too deep in the forest with too many hours to go before dawn. Without a blade to defend herself and without rest after having wielded so much Chaos, the likelihood of her survival was low. And what would happen if she did make it through and waltzed into town with no clothes on? She didn't indulge her imagination. Confronting the witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken, seemed her only choice, but he had the advantage in the dark. In fact, he probably had the advantage no matter the time of day. A mutant such as he was stronger, faster, could see in almost complete blackness, and had experienced far more battles than she had. She was young for a mage, just shy of forty, though her body was that of a woman far younger.
"Hey!" She shouted with inferiority. Geralt started, leapt to his feet, and pirouetted to face her with his hand on the hilt of his iron blade.
"Hullo." He responded with surety. He browsed the glade concealing her, "Where are you, if you don't mind my asking? Hard to have a conversation with a tree."
"I'd prefer to remain hidden. I'm certain you're sharp enough to surmise why." She noticed his gaze flitting to the patch of grass where her garb lay, "I'd like to recruit your services, witcher. Could you do me a favor and toss me my satchel?" After a moment's consideration, he huffed a laugh. She frowned.
"Are you suggesting to me that you've wandered naked into the wood with no form of protection? Your blade is here. I'll admit to finding that decision strange, particularly this far from more civilized company." Geralt had begun to slowly advance. A nasty smile smeared his face. His fingers clutched impatiently at the hilt of his sword.
"I assure you I have no form of protection. If I had wanted to ambush you, I might've done so in the ten minutes I've been watching you raid my camp and take a nap." She lulled, monitoring his proximity closely.
"Raid is certainly a harsh word. I haven't taken anything. And no form of protection at all? Really? Like, I dunno, magic perhaps?" He gestured at the flaming body. His pace was gradually accelerating. The reality of her situation was setting in. He most certainly did not intend to do as she asked.
"Do use your head: I lit the corpse to stay warm. It's near freezing out! Again, would I not have already ambushed you if I could readily do so? Please, just—"
"Forgive me if I have trouble trusting the word of a sorceress murderer who won't show herself."
"What- murderer?" She could now hear the crunch of his boots. Fright pounded in her skull, "I've done nothing but protect myself." Her crouched feet had begun to instinctively lead her away from him. She might be able to muster an Aard, but no more than a modest one. Modesty would not be enough to stop a witcher.
"Again, I have doubts about whether or not you're being fully honest. I'm sure you're sharp enough to surmise why." His stare now hovered near the crinkling her feet made in the coppice. He had fully established her position, though she was still obscured by a veil of foliage. The moment she rose from the screen of leaves, she would have to run. She felt utterly powerless, a field mouse fleeing a panther. He loomed ever closer.
Just before Geralt's knees touched the thicket and unable to withhold her fear any longer, she spun around, sprang to her feet, and took off into the night. The witcher saw a sudden flash of movement a few feet away and drew his sword. The naked back of a woman's torso popped out from the bushes. He was so flummoxed by her state of dress that he simply stood, stupefied by the nudity, for a moment before taking off after her.
Each ran full tilt. Bramble slapped painfully against her skin as she sprinted, but the sound of Geralt's pursuit, mere feet away from her, motivated her to move quickly. Her near-frozen musculature was howling in opposition. Fuck! Her hands stung as they funneled the impeding vegetation from her eyes. If I can just— Something hit her like a wagon. The wind swept from her chest as she was tackled to the ground from behind, chin skidding in the mud. The weight of the witcher's body pressed her firmly into the tacky muck.
"This makes for more engaging conversation, eh? Let's have a chat." He snarled.