The great beast gave a final, wrenching roar full of pain and impotent rage as the witcher buried his sword one last time in the beast's neck. It collapsed to the ground, sending a huge cloud of dust swirling into the air with the weight of its body. Then, all was still and quiet. Dari held his breath, ears straining and heart beating loudly in his chest. Neither beast nor witcher moved, apart from the heaving of the witcher's chest from the strain of conquering the great beast, for several long moments as Dari continued to watch from his position crouched behind the overturned cart, just one eye peeking around it.

After what seemed like forever, the witcher moved. He wiped the sweat from his brow and then took a few steps away to drag his sword against the grass, cleaning a little of the beast's blood and guts from it before he returned it to the sheathe on his back. The witcher was tall with short-cropped hair and a hairline running away from its widow's peak. His face was all scruffy, like some of his master's guards were now that they'd been travelling so long and he wore armour, though that was nothing like the armour the master's guards wore and was leather and worn.

The other creatures must have taken that as permission for them to move, too, for suddenly Dari could hear the birds again, chirping in the distance, and a light breeze picked up. Releasing his breath, he shifted a little and glanced towards his master who was still cowering beside him – curled into a ball like an infant with his hands raised above his head. Dari snorted softly and rolled his eyes while the master couldn't see him – he'd known the man was a coward. At least he hadn't been coward enough to not even glimpse at the fight.

Before he could determine what he should do next, his master rose and stood gazing imperiously around at his guards, hardly sparing a glance for the witcher who had saved them and looking as if he hadn't spent the entirety of the fight with his sword sheathed uselessly, crouched and hidden and babbling prayers under his breath. In fact, his master had been the first of them to hide when the great beast had first attacked, when it had tipped their small caravan's lead cart and stolen Heinrich, the cart's driver, screaming off into the air with its great talons.

With a look from his master, the remaining guards set about heaving the cart back onto its wheels. Dari scrambled out of the way and stood, too, brushing the dust off of his tunic, before he came to stand just behind his master's right side.

"You, there. Witcher," his master said with an imperious stare and his nose in the air. With his head still bowed and his face hidden, Dari rolled his eyes again. Of course his master would believe himself better than the witcher that had saved them all. Well, apart from poor Heinrich, who lay still and quite dead in the field, but that wasn't anyone's fault.

The witcher looked almost bored as he glanced away from the great beast and towards his master, but there was a hardness to his face that told Dari he'd taken offence at his master's tone. His master was probably stupid enough to continue insulting the witcher. Maybe the witcher would punch his master. That could be entertaining. He clasped his hands behind his back and pinched the skin between thumb and finger to keep a smirk off his face.

"What?" The witcher asked brusquely. He spared another glance for the corpse of the great beast and then stood and approached with arms crossed over his chest and head tilted in challenge. "You got coin for me?" An eyebrow rose.

"Ah. Yes. Coin. The reason witchers," the master spat the word as if it were a curse, "do anything. Well. I'm afraid I do not have any spare coin, and, as you must be able to see, many of my wares for the market were damaged. I simply cannot spare anything of, hm, direct value for your… services. However…" Dari's gaze darted to his master as the man shifted nervously from foot to foot. His master's face looked quite sickly. He'd gone awfully pale and sweat gathered at his hairline. He cleared his throat and suddenly seemed unable to look directly at the witcher, his eyes flitting about until they settled on Dari. His stomach dropped as he ducked his head again. He wasn't allowed to look directly at his master unless he'd been ordered to - and sometimes not even then, but he couldn't always tell when it was a test and when it wasn't - and he didn't like the cold and calculating look that had crept onto his master's face.

Dari flinched finely as his master abruptly grabbed the back of his tunic and pushed him forward. He stumbled towards the witcher, falling to his knees in front of him. Strangely, he thought he saw the witcher's fingers clench, as if they were tempted to reach out and steady him. But that couldn't be right. Why would a witcher consider doing that?

"This is my slave. He's quite valuable under the right circumstances. In return for your services with that thing, you may have him." The master gestured to a guard who brought Dari's small bag and tossed it at his feet. Dari's breath hitched and his heart began beating wildly in his chest, his rib cage squeezing his lungs until he couldn't breathe again. The whole world dimmed and narrowed, his head and limbs buzzing. At least the earth under him felt solid, because nothing else did.

The master and the witcher argued, but Dari couldn't listen. The master seemed to have found some courage, for he didn't give in even though the witcher yelled and gestured angrily. Instead, he climbed back into his cart and gestured for the newly assigned driver to leave.

"If you really have no use for him, take him back to Nilfgaard and sell him in a market there. He'll fetch you enough coin to make the journey worth your while." A guard tossed a few apples and portions of jerky towards Dari, which landed in the dirt near his feet, as the caravan left. The carts quickly picked up speed as they continued their journey through Theodula Pass.

Dari's mouth was dry and his hands hung limply by his sides. He stared down at his bag that now contained his only possessions. He startled out of his reverie when the witcher gestured broadly and agitatedly towards him and his belongings.

"Get your stuff." The witcher said nothing else, simply turned away and crouched back down by the great beast, hacking at it with his swords and knives. Dari swallowed thickly. His master had just left him. Left him somewhere in the middle of these mountains, far from home. Once again, he hadn't been able to say goodbye. The witcher was his master now.

Numb, he gathered up the food, dusting it off and then storing it in his little bag. His fingers brushed the blanket inside. Marta, one of the kitchen servants, had knitted it just for him. No one had ever made him something just for him before Marta. His eyes watered, and he brushed away the tears with the back of his hands. Even though he'd never see Marta or anyone else he'd loved ever again, now was no time to cry, not when the witcher might notice.

He stayed where he was, right in the middle of the path, until he knew he could keep his face under control. The witcher was still hacking at the beast, and Dari watched him gathering feathers and other bits for a while before he cautiously approached. He hovered to the man's left side but stayed out of reach, uncertain what the witcher with his furious face and grumbling curses might do to him if he angered him further. He worried his lip as he contemplated what to say. He knew what he should say, but it seemed the witcher was gathering these parts for potions or something similar, and Dari had no experience with that. But if he couldn't be of enough use, then the witcher may very well take him and sell him again, and there were worse masters than witchers, he was sure.

That settled his mind. Even though he knew only a little of what his new master might be like, he needed to keep him rather than face someone entirely unknown. He took a deep breath in an attempt to centre himself, but he barely felt any less off-kilter than he had before. He clasped his hands behind his back, and his fingers twisted around each other. "May I assist you, master?"

The witcher's blade came down especially forcefully, and Dari couldn't help but flinch and take a small step back. "Fuck. Fuck, no. And don't fucking call me that. You understand?"

Dari froze as the witcher looked at him, their eyes meeting for a terrifying second before Dari dropped his gaze to the ground. He swallowed to wet his suddenly dry mouth and gave a little, trembling nod. "Y-yes, mas— Uh. Yes, uh, sir." He swallowed again as his shoulders hunched slightly. "Yes, sir. I understand," he tried again in a clearer, stronger voice. The witcher's jaw clenched. It was obvious he wasn't happy with Dari's response. But a grunted "good" was all he replied before turning away and re-focussing on his task butchering the beast.

It felt like Dari stood there forever, still and quiet, while the witcher finished. He startled when the witcher whistled long and sharp but recovered quickly until the witcher drew his sword and cut off the beast's head. At that, Dari looked away with his nose wrinkling and stepped even further back. The sound of hooves caught his attention and soon a large black warhorse came into view.

It was magnificent. Dari admired the stallion, his fingertips itching to reach out and pet the horse's silky coat, while the witcher affixed the beast's head - still dripping blood - to the creature's saddle. He'd heard of this, he thought, in some of the stories he'd heard of witchers. That they'd take the heads of the beasts they slew as trophies and to prove their victory over the monsters they fought. It seemed less disgusting in the stories. He hoped his master would never ask for his help with that.

Caught as he was in his contemplations, he nearly jumped again when the witcher addressed him. "You coming or what, kid? No skin off my nose if you want to stay here and—"

"Yes, sir! I'm coming, sir!" Dari hastily said. He wanted to stay alone in the barren mountain pass even less than he'd wanted to be unceremoniously dumped by his former master onto this new master. He didn't want the witcher to get any ideas about leaving him, so he snatched his bag up and swung the straps over his shoulder as he hurried to catch up with the horse that was already trotting away in the opposite direction, going back the way he'd come from this morning.

The day dragged on as they walked, but at least the witcher only made his horse go as fast as Dari's short legs could. Dari kept the witcher in his peripheral view, contemplating this behaviour and what it might mean as they went. It helped to keep his mind off the cloth shoes he wore which did little to protect his feet from the rocky ground. After months of travelling, his feet were nearly used to it, the calluses having grown in from the blisters he'd developed early on, but on ground like this, they still hurt.

The witcher hadn't said a word to him since they'd set out, and he still had a stormy look on his face. But Dari wasn't a saint, and all his masters had been sure to tell him how bad a slave he was so he had little pride to lose on that point, so perhaps trying to have a few questions answered would have little downside. He frowned as he considered what to ask first. There were so many things he wanted answered. The soreness of his throat decided it. Practical matters first.

"Sir?" he called softly and solicitously. "May I please have some water?"

The witcher's face tightened even more, despite Dari being certain that wasn't possible. Surely the witcher's teeth would crack or his nose would pop off from the pressure. "Look, kid. I'm not here to take care of you. Don't ask me before you drink water or eat or whatever." He urged the horse on a little faster, and Dari had to pick up his pace to keep up.

"I would, sir," Dari said calmly but politely though he didn't believe the witcher really didn't want him to ask first, "but I do not have a waterskin."

The horse stopped, and the witcher looked at him. Dari looked back but kept his eyes focussed on the medallion hanging around the man's neck. The sunlight glinted off the silver. "Why," he ground out, "do you not have a waterskin? Isn't it in your pack?"

Dari promptly shook his head. "No, sir. My master - that is, my former master - did not wish for me to hold my own waterskin. He kept it with his, and I was to ask him when I wished a drink so he could determine if it was an appropriate time for me to have it." The witcher growled like a wolf but didn't otherwise reply for so long that Dari wondered if he was just going to ignore his request.

Then a waterskin smacked into his chest. Dari's eyebrow lifted as he picked it up from the ground. "Thank you." He uncorked it and gulped down two large sips, sighing happily as the cold, clear liquid quenched his thirst. He hurried forward and held it up to the witcher to return it. The witcher shook his head and pushed his hand away with more gentleness than Dari would have guessed he'd show given the witcher's face still looked like thunder and he held himself so rigid and straight it was like a stick had been shoved up his - well. Dari supposed he wouldn't be pleased, either, if he'd been unexpectedly stuck with himself.

"Keep it."

Dari did a double-take at that and then shrugged. It certainly wasn't his place to question his master's oddities, and he definitely wasn't going to say no to having access to as much water as he wanted at any time he wanted it. Just because he could, he took another sip before he stowed the skin away in his bag, continuing to amble along beside the witcher's horse as they travelled on.

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