Morning light filtered through Jaskier's closed eyelids and he snuggled deeper into his blanket, the events of the previous night not yet fully returned. The air was cold and smelled of frost. He pulled his blanket closer around his lithe frame, trying to postpone the inevitable moment when he had to shed the comfortable warmth to rekindle the fire. Straining his ears, he noted the absence of Geralt's soft snoring and concluded that he must have gotten up already, probably was down at the stream to fetch water. The witcher was usually up at the first break of dawn.

Jaskier yawned and blinked his eyes open, gazing dazedly at the empty spot beside the fireplace. It took a moment until realization sank in, but when it did, he sat up, suddenly wide awake. Geralt's bedroll had disappeared along with his belongings, and Roach was gone too. When the hell had that happened? He pushed to his feet, the warm relaxation falling off him along with his blanket. Apparently, Geralt had left without him.

Why?

It was the first question that came to mind. Memory of last night returned in vivid images - Geralt marching off into the darkness, falling to his knees with a pained gasp, fear in his eyes. Confusion on his face as he stared back at Jaskier, unsure whether he was really there.

In all the time he had known him, Jaskier had never seen him so utterly shaken, so completely lost, and he had done what any good friend would do. Offer as much reassurance as he could and give him some space to get himself together. Hold back the myriad of questions that sat on his tongue in favor of Geralt's immediate needs. Let him rest.

In the end, Jaskier had thought he'd done quite a good job at convincing him to return to Vizima, together. Play this safe, whatever this was. Seemed like his friend hadn't been so convinced after all.

Jaskier shook his head in quiet frustration. Geralt was fiercely independent and self-reliant, he knew that. Being a witcher, it was a matter of necessity. It wasn't just about tending to his wounds after a fight, it was also a defense against customers who were often prejudiced against him or unwilling to pay what they owed. But Jaskier had seen him wounded before, had even occasionally lent him a hand if needed, so there really wasn't any need to appear strong before him. They were friends, after all, weren't they? At least Jaskier saw it that way.

His lips firmed as he realized that Geralt had never used this term to refer to him. Travel companion, yes. Acquaintance. But friend?

He pondered on that as he got his things together, trying to ignore the sting of hurt. Maybe he should just grant him his wish and leave him be. Why stick around if he obviously wasn't wanted? He could take a hint. Frustrated, he kicked some sand over the smoldering ashes of the campfire before swinging his bag over his shoulder along with his lute. Hopefully, the man was headed back to civilization at least.

He marched back the short way to the road, which was more of a path really, barely wide enough for a cart. In the soft soil, he could clearly make out Roach's hoof prints that led left, following the path into the mountains. So Geralt wasn't returning to Vizima. Instead, he had taken the road to the woodcutters' settlement for the witcher contract. Monster hunting. Not the safest pastime activity if one suffered from lack of sleep and what seemed like very vivid hallucinations.

Jaskier sighed, recalling the conversation they'd had the night before. What kind of friend would I be to leave you alone like this? His own words. He had meant them, too, and he still did.

Oh, fuck it. Geralt might not want him around, but Jaskier wasn't ready to accept that. If he hurried, he might even catch up with him before he reached the village. He was not as wilderness savvy as Geralt, but he was not blind, and Roach had left a track in the soft soil that was easy to follow. So even if he eventually departed from the road, there was a fair chance that he'd find him. Holding on to that thought, Jaskier dug a piece of bread from his bag, took a bite and hit the trail.

It was early afternoon already when he heard the soft chatter of voices from ahead. By then, the path had narrowed, following the edge of a steep ravine, and the ground that had originally been soft forest soil had become rocky and hard. The number of hoof prints had become sparser and eventually disappeared completely. Still, there hadn't been any sign of Geralt.

As he followed the bend of the road, he found three men gathered around the remains of a cart. It was smashed beyond repair, its former cargo, a load of logs, now blocking the path. The horse that was tethered nearby sported a deep gash across the chest. It was being tended to by a stocky man with graying hair. Two younger men were occupied trying to clear the road, talking among each other in low voices.

When he drew closer, he noticed two bundles by the side of the road, which at second glance turned out to be human. The shapes underneath the grimy blankets suggested missing limbs and other mutilations Jaskier didn't want to ponder about. The ground was soaked with blood. He swallowed drily as he pieced the information together, concluding what must have happened here.

"Greetings," he addressed the men, voice pitched appropriately low. "This looks terrible. Can I be of any help?"

Heads turned towards him, and Jaskier could see the aftershocks of the events written over their faces. Judging by the likeness of their facial features, the younger men were brothers or related in some other way. Jaskier noted the stains of dried blood on their clothing, the rusty brown smears on their hands. Sweat darkened their blond hair and plastered it against their skulls. The way they looked, they must have been through hell.

The taller one of them introduced himself as Liam.

"Not much you can do. We've already sent someone back to the village," he said with a vague gesture down the road. "Someone should be here soon."

Jaskier nodded in acknowledgment. From up close, the scratch marks alongside the cart were even more impressive, the indentations inch-deep. He shuddered as he imagined the size of the claws and the muscle required to dig into the wood like that.

"Must have been quite the beast," he mumbled.

"It was. Jesse here saw it first. We turned tail as soon as it attacked, or else it would have killed us, too. Our second cart ended up down the ravine along with the horses."

Jaskier followed his glance. Only now did he notice the damaged bushes and shrubs that marked the spot where the cart had gone over the cliff.

"I'm sorry," he offered his condolences. An uneasy feeling started to spread in his midsection. "May I ask, what kind of monster did this?"

A shadow fell on the man's face.

"The woodland beast."

The man who had been referred to as Jesse exhaled a long breath and folded his arms across his broad chest, nodding along with his brother's answer.

"It's been attacking our folks for some weeks now. Used to roam the woods farther up north, but when we started to cut our trees elsewhere, it's come down."

"It's why we put out the word, looking for a monster hunter. But there's not many of them witchers left, and so far, we didn't have any luck. Might well be we have to leave for good."

Jaskier frowned in confusion. This was the only road to the settlement, so Geralt must have passed them by. Maybe he hadn't identified himself as a witcher? It just didn't make any sense, him being after the contract and all.

"Did you pass a white-haired man on a horse?" He asked uncertainly. "He might have pulled his hood into his face, so it might have been hard to get a good look. Carries two swords on his back."

Jesse shook his face. "Didn't see no one on the road today, except for the beast."

Jaskier's face dropped. Was it possible that he had been following the wrong set of hoof prints? He was no tracker, and the soil texture had changed over the course of the past hours. He hadn't paid that much attention either since there hadn't been any junctions off the road and he had thought to know Geralt's destination. He shifted uneasily as he realized that he might have lost Geralt altogether. With the events of last night fresh in his mind, he found the thought deeply unsettling.

Liam must have noticed that something was wrong because he furrowed his brows in concern.

"Everything alright? You looking for someone?"

Jaskier shook his head, trying to make sense of it. "A friend. But if you haven't seen him -"

He turned to look back down the road, trying to recall when he had last seen a hoof print that was clearly Roach's. It must have been hours ago. Slowly, it started to dawn on him that Geralt might never have headed for Twin Brooks in the first place. It was a relief of sorts since it showed that despite his current state of mind, he was still smart enough to stay clear of monster hunting when clearly, he was in no shape. But it also meant that Jaskier would have a hard time finding him.

He wondered if Geralt had been aware of the track he had left. Jaskier didn't deem it beyond the witcher to remain on the road as long as the ground was soft only to head into the woods as soon as he was sure to leave no trace. Well, no trace that a bard could follow.

"Sorry, lad." Liam's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "I sure hope the beast didn't get him while he was on the road."

Jaskier felt his stomach tighten at the words. Not that he really thought that he would have missed the signs of something like that. One look at the mayhem before him was enough to rule that out. But the monster had returned into the woods, and he had all reason to believe that Geralt was still somewhere in the area. Geralt, who was exhausted, distracted and far from his usual, more than capable self. He probably didn't expect to encounter the beast so far from the woodcutters' settlement.

Jaskier gazed at the blanketed corpses, trying to ignore the apprehension he felt. If only he had an idea where Geralt was headed, what his plans were. It would make things so much easier.

To his side, the mare bucked with a sharp snort, and Jaskier's eyes flicked up. The beast seemed skittish, protesting the ministrations of the man who tended to her injuries. He reached for her bridle and she settled quickly under his hands.

"Good girl," he mumbled in a voice that was soothing and gentle. "That's it. Almost done."

Something about his mannerisms reminded him of Geralt taking care of Roach. The softness in his tone, the reassurance that transpired in every touch. The mare was lucky to have an owner to treat her so well. Good thing that the village was merely hours away. The horses would get to spend the end of the day at the relative safety of a stable, probably eating their heads off, while the men slept with a roof over their heads.

A thought crept into Jaskier's mind. Roach was probably the most important thing in Geralt's life, he would never treat her badly. In all his time of traveling with the witcher, Jaskier had never known him to neglect her needs. There had always been a rub down for her after a long day's journey, after a hunt too, injury or no. Even when coin was sparse, there had invariably been enough food for her.

Geralt might have been able to shake Jaskier as he had left the road, but he had to make camp at some point, if only for Roach's sake, and she needed water.

"You know the woods?" Jaskier asked thoughtfully, eyes wandering towards the forest stretching to the left side of the road.

"Well enough." The woodcutter shrugged. "I've lived here all my life. Why?"

"I wonder, is there any source of water besides the stream?"

"You mean Tucker's Brook? Well, there's a lake further up into the hills, way past the settlement, but that's about it."

"So, if you were on horseback and wanted to make camp in the woods, that's where you'd make camp."

"I suppose."

Jaskier nodded to himself, and Liam gave him a long look.

"You're not planning to head into the woods, are you? That's the realm of the woodland beast."

"I know."

Jaskier wasn't fond of the idea either, but he didn't think he had much of a choice. Unless he decided to back out. However, he couldn't shake the image of Geralt's huddled form beside the campfire, pale from exhaustion, eyes hollow. A shuddering heap of misery. Whatever his reasons to leave in the middle of the night, it had been foolish beyond description, and Jaskier would be damned if he left him to suffer alone.

"Look," the expression on Liam's face softened, "you seem like a nice lad. Don't be stupid. Right now, the woods are a dangerous place. Hell, even the road isn't safe anymore. Turn back to the city while you can. If your friend is still out here, he'll come and find you. And if the beast got him - ," he paused briefly. "Well, then there's nothing you can do for him anymore. No offense, but you don't look much like a fighter."

Jaskier's lips curled upward in a half-smile.

"Didn't say I was."

As if he was planning to slay the beast. He'd leave that to people who were good at that kind of thing. He could try and find Geralt though, talk some sense into him. If he was right, all he had to do was follow the stream and he'd run into him eventually. The presence of a monster might well convince him to return to civilization.

Liam must have noticed the look of determination on the bard's face because his face was clouded.

"You've got your mind made up, haven't you," the woodcutter stated. "Well, I'm not going to stop you. As my mother used to say, the line between foolishness and bravery can be thin. Your friend can count himself lucky to have you."

Jaskier huffed at that. One of these days, he might quote that to Geralt.

He couldn't move. The sensation itself was terrifying enough to have him panting, skin trembling with cold sweat, but it wasn't merely the paralysis that scared him. There was a threat lurking in the darkness. Something abominable. Something lusting for blood.

As Geralt lay on his bedroll, immobile and helpless, he could hear its breath, tasted its rancid smell on the wind. Desperately, he tried to rise, force his hands to reach for the swords that he knew to lie by his side, but to no avail. Even his voice was stuck in his throat. All he could manage was to turn his eyes, gaze at the trees with rising terror, waiting for the inevitable rustle in the underbrush that would betray its approach.

It wasn't any creature he had encountered before. Like a shadow, it rose among the trees, black and scaly, lifting its ugly head to sniff for its prey. Its nostrils flared as it caught on to his scent. Unable to avert his eyes, he watched its head snap around, and he bucked against his invisible restraints. His heart pounded so hard it seemed about to burst from his chest.

The beast was upon him within moments. He felt its hot breath on his face, the stench of decaying blood overwhelming his senses. Saliva dripped from its fangs as it bent low, fixing him with gray eyes that he knew. Her eyes.

You should have killed him like I told you.

One of its legs clawed into his side, effectively pinning him to the ground, and then its teeth sank into his flesh.

He woke with a startled gasp.

Above him, sunlight dazzled through colored leaves, branches swaying slightly in the wind. Water gurgled nearby. A dream, it had been just a dream. Groaning, he let his head fall back and rubbed his face.

With dismay, he noticed that the fire he had started this morning had burnt to ashes. He must have fallen asleep while meditating. Not that the attempt had done him any good. These days, it was near impossible to quiet his mind, his thoughts having developed a will of their own, circling aimlessly until they inevitably settled on that wretched sorceress. It reminded him of his early days at Kaer Morhen when he had first started meditation practice under Vesemir's guidance, and it frustrated him to no end. His attention was slipping like some bloody beginner's.

He gave himself a moment to slow his breathing, then pushed to his feet. Roach shifted nervously and he patted her shoulder, trying to calm her. The mare was smart, obviously catching on to her master's mood.

"It's alright," he mumbled, running his hand across her back. "Nothing to worry about."

He didn't even believe it himself anymore. Stroking his hands across her back felt good though. It grounded him, providing solace through the familiar touch.

"Just a couple of days and Triss will be back. She'll know what to do. And if not, -" He didn't finish the sentence, unable to think of a solution, and ended up repeating his words from before. "She'll know what to do."

He treated Roach to an apple and then turned to tend to the fire. The water in the small kettle had completely boiled away. It was expected but it annoyed him nonetheless. If he wanted a cup of Triss's tea, he would have to start all over again, and he didn't think it would be wise to spend another night without it. In hindsight, he should have brewed himself a fresh one last night. After all, he had spilled half of it, and look where it got him.

As he set to the task of rekindling the fire, seeking to calm his nerves by occupying his hands, he could feel the terror from his dream resurface. Someone was watching him. It was a sense of dread that crept upon him, worming its way up his spine until it was all he could think of. It was like the night before, when he had felt the presence of Celaena taking shape behind him. Just as real. Just as terrifying.

He clenched his teeth. No way he was going to allow himself another breakdown. He could handle this. All he had to do was firmly remind himself that Celaena was dead. He had watched her die, Jaskier had watched her die, she couldn't touch him anymore. Easy as anything. It was a curious thing though, ignoring the input of his senses in favor of reason.

Despite his attempts, he felt cold panic take a hold of him, adrenaline spiking. He shook his head curtly, trying to clear his head, hating himself for his weakness. There was nothing here, he repeated his mantra. This wasn't real.

The image of Celaena manifested in his mind. He could hear her now, branches cracking under her feet as she approached. He expected her voice to sound in his thoughts any moment now, mocking him, telling him to pick up his swords to fight. To kill. But Jaskier wasn't here, so she couldn't make him hurt him. At least, there was one thing he had gotten right. Jaskier was safe.

Next to him, Roach gave a frightened whinny and pricked her ears.

Another branch cracked, close this time. His medallion jerked on its chain.

It was then that he realized with urgency, that this time, his instincts had been right. He whipped around just in time to see a humanoid figure emerge from the trees behind him. Gnarled arms protruded from either side of the moss-covered torso, a giant pair of antlers rising from a pale skull like the horns of a pagan god.

A leshen, his racing mind provided. Of all creatures to catch him unprepared, it had to be an ancient forest guardian. All conscious thought fled as survival instincts took over. He sent a blast of igni at it as he leaped for his swords. His first cut aimed at Roach's tethers, and the mare took the chance and ran.

There was no time for another action as the creature attacked instantly. He managed to dodge the first strike well enough, but he was slow, his limbs weighted with exhaustion. The second time, the clawed hands hit him square across the chest and sent him flying into a tree. He immediately missed the protection of his armor as the impact knocked the air from his lungs. The blow to his back had undoubtedly busted a couple of ribs. It was a thought that was quickly discarded. If he didn't get back to his feet now, a few broken bones would be the least of his concerns. The leshen let out a piercing screech that jerked at his medallion, and Geralt cursed, knowing exactly what that meant. It was using its magic to summon the creatures of the forest to aid in the fight.

Time to act now, before it was too late.

Biting back the pain, he struggled back to his feet and cast Quen, his sword firmly in hand. Maybe he could get to his bag at least before he fled. It contained Triss's medicine after all, and a few flasks of healing potions, both of which he would greatly appreciate. In the distance, he heard a wolf howl, the call soon joined by others. Fuck.

The leshen advanced and he met the attack with a purposeful strike of his sword. Wood splintered as it struck its mark. He doubted that he had caused much damage though, not without the help of his potions. Anyway, it wasn't necessary. All he needed to do was grab his belongings and get the hell out of here. He barely managed to evade another violent swing of its arms and made for his bag, snatching it from the ground in one quick movement that made his ribs scream in agony. He thought that he had made it too until a blow hit him from behind. Most of the damage was absorbed by his magical shield, but still, he felt himself tumbling from the sheer force of the blow.

It took him a moment to regain his footing.

Panting, he raised his sword just in time to block another attack. Magic rippled through the air and from the corner of his eye, he saw the roots of the trees come alive, twisting like wooden tentacles, reaching for his ankles.

It was then that he realized that the creature would never let him go. He had invaded its sanctuary, and the forest guardian would make him pay. Fine, he thought grimly. If he had to die here, so be it. But he would make every strike count. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword and he locked his eyes on the beast before him. A moment before the leshen came at him again, he heard a rustle in the underbrush, the sound of twigs breaking and soft feet tapping on the forest soil. He didn't have to take a look to know what that meant.

The wolves had arrived.