Miron sits on a stool behind the table with his chin resting on his hands. Since he cannot reach the floor yet, he waves his legs and he watches the witcher. He's watchful and curious. Except the two of them there is no one else in the hut. His mother as always rose before dawn and went to hunt. Cudka brought milk from their neighbors, she made him a meal and then took her wicker basket and went to the garden. Before she left, she had told Miron to be good. He knows that if he climbs the chest that stands under the window turned towards their yard, he will see her bare, bright head between the beds of herbs and vegetables. He wonders if he should follow her. Sometimes she lets him help with her plants. When she does, he crouches next to her in the green alleys that smell of soil and of damp freshness. She teaches him how to secure the stalks of tomatoes that are heavy with huge, luscious fruit. She shows him how to rip the weeds out along with their roots to keep them from growing back. Gently and with patience she explains to him how to trim the branches of the white mirtle to let it flourish and how often to water the shrubs of sage and rosemary. Miron likes those moments. They smell of the sun and the green and the calm. He likes to watch Cudka. When she's surrounded by plants, she is no longer timid. She smiles gently and her voice is soft, but firm. Miron watches her as she is touching the herbs with gentle caress and he thinks that there is some kind of magic in all of it, because the herbs and the flowers seem to respond to the touch, they move, they graze the pale hands that are stretched towards them. When Cudka lets him, he plunges his tiny hands into the green, moist thicket. He's proud, because their garden is the fairest of all. Even if there is a drought or a pest and the crops in the whole village are poor, their soil is always filled with plants that are ardent and ripe. Miron thinks to himself that those plants love Cudka and grow just for her.
But now there's something wrong with Cudka and with the garden. She's sullen and quiet and she goes missing for days whole. Their plants grow paler and paler and their wilt as if the sun was taken from them. Cudka still hugs him and ruffles his hair, but she smiles no longer and she does not listen when he jabbers about a new hideout by the forest's edge or a giant toad that he found by the stream. Her eyes are sad and distant. That is why he decided to stay home today. He's curious about their visitor.
It's been a few moons since the witcher came. Miron doesn't wonder much why the witcher is still here. He knows from his mother that he had a tough fight with the beast in their forest and he needs to rest. Miron has never seen the monster, but he is glad that it is gone. Now he can play outside their yard again. He's been worried that the witcher would not get well. He has slept for so long and he was as pale as the miller's kids. His mom told him that's because the monster hurt him a lot, but eventually he'd get better. And so Miron kept coming to his bed and waiting, looking at him curiously. One time he even dared to touch one of the swords that were propped against the wall, but his mom noticed that chased him away.
When the witcher has finally woken up, Miron could not make up his mind. He was curious and filled with awe (all in all, it was the witchers who were killing all those scary beasts!), but he was also intimidated. The kids from the village talked many things about the witchers. Bojan, the blacksmith's son, has told him that the witcher ate cats and that's why their eyes were like that, but Miron did not really trust that. The witcher in their home is quiet, fearsome and a bit scary, but he speaks gently to his mother and to Cudka. His face is scarred, but Miron doesn't mind. His dad, before he was gone, had scars like that too.
Now the witcher is sitting on the edge of the bed. He sews a red studded jacket with a thick twine. A few days ago Miron saw his mother wash this jacket in the stream. The water that ran down from it was brown and pink. The witcher knows he is being watched, but he says nothing. Sometimes he just frowns when the stitch comes out wrong or when the needle won't go through the thick cloth. Miron looks to the side, towards the swords that are propped against the wall. He waves his legs and looks back to the witcher.
"Is it true that one sword is for the monsters and the other for the folks?", he asks. The witcher casts him a brief look.
"No", he says with no particular emotion. "Both of them are for monsters, but each for a different kind of them".
The boy leans forward, resting his chins on his palms.
"Different how?", he asks.
"The ones that don't like silver and the ones that can be killed with iron".
"Could the one from our forest be killed with iron?".
"It was a cockerel that nested in your forest. It's a draconids. Draconids can be killed only with silver".
The boy tilts his head, frowns and bulges his cheeks.
"What's a draconid?".
The witcher puts away his needle and sighs heavily. He gazes at the boy for a while, then turns his eyes towards the ceiling and rubs his neck.
"Draconid is something like a dragon", he says.
The boy lifts his brows with fascination.
"There was a dragon in our forest?".
"You could say that".
"And you killed it?".
The witcher murmurs something indistinct. They fall silent. The boy looks at the swords, suddenly lost in his thoughts.
"My papa used to kill monsters too. But he didn't have swords as pretty as these", he finally says. The witcher doesn't answer. Miron waves his legs once more, then climbs down the stool and timidly strolls towards the bed the witcher's sitting on. He climbs onto the chest that stands next to it, grips the frame with his hands and rests his chin atop them.
"Is it true that witchers eat cats?", he asks very seriously, furrowing his brows.
The witcher tugs the twine once more, then puts the needle back and looks at the boy. He looks a bit confused.
"Cats?"
"Bojan, the blacksmith's son, told me that you eat cats. And that's why you have eyes like that".
The witcher stares at him in silence.
"No", he says at last. "That's not why".
"Oh". Miron looks at him, disappointed. "And do you kidnap children? Because Radzim told me that…"
"No. We don't kidnap children. Sometimes we take them, but we do not kidnap them". The witcher quiets down for a moment. He hesitates. "It's complicated", he adds at last.
His gaze goes to the swords that stand leaned against the wall. He's looking at them for a long time, lost in his thoughts. Finally he sighs heavily and grabs the needle back. Miron doesn't stop watching him.
"Cudka says that the witchers bring misfortune", he says, his voice quieter, more sullen than before. The witcher does not answer. The boy frowns and broods for a moment.
"But I don't think it's true. You killed the monster. It's a good thing to do", he finally says.
"I killed the monster because that's what I'm paid for, kid".
The witcher casts a brief glance at the boy and adds, never stopping his work:
"And if Cudka dislikes witchers so much, she will be angry when she'll come and see you here with me".
The boy tilts his head to the side with suspicion.
"Cudka is never angry. How do you know that she's coming?"
"I can hear her".
His words prove true when the door creaks and Cudka appears in it, her wicker basket tucked tightly to her chest. She looks at Miron, who climbs down from the chest and runs to her with a flood of words. She smiles faintly at him and embraces him gently. Then she looks at the witcher and her smile wilts. Her eyes speak of fear and anxiety, as they always do when she looks at him.
The witcher nods in greeting.
"Good morning", he says quietly. Cudka purses her lips and turns her back to him. She puts the basket on the table and in silence she starts to take out herbs and vegetables. Miron looks a bit crestfallen with her coldness. He climbs back onto the stool and returns to his jabber. Cudka doesn't seem to be listening to him. She bustles around the hut, but she looks sullen and distressed. Sometimes she stops in her tracks and looks around in confusion, as if she forgot what she was going to do. The witcher finishes his sewing and raises the jacket to his eyes, smoothens it and examines it carefully. Content with the effect of his work, he leaves the jacket on the chest that stands by his bed. Then he props his elbows on his knees and for a long time he gazes in silence at the girl and the boy. Finally he stands up with a pained grimace on his face. He slowly limps toward the table. Cudka raises her head and looks at him. A small knife she's been using to peel the vegetables quivers in her pale hand. She swallows loudly. She looks like she wants to take a few steps back to maintain safe distance.
When the witcher is near or even if he's just present she always looks distressed. Eskel starts to wonder why. Anxiety or even hostility are nothing new to him, distrust and fear of witchers are also rather ordinary. But there is something else to the way this girl acts around him. She looks at him as if she expects that he will grab his sword and put it to her neck. Eskel doesn't hold a grudge against that. He's more angry at himself for taking away her peace of mind in her own home. He wants to leave as soon as he can, but before that happens, he tries not to be noticed. He doesn't talk much and he doesn't eat with them at the table, even though Wszebora invites him. When he's strong enough, he goes outside and limps to the stable, where he passes his time on grooming his horse and getting ready to leave for the road. But now there is something he needs to know.
"When I was brought here…", he starts quietly. He tries to catch her gaze, but her eyes avoid him. "I wonder if you found a silver medallion. In the shape of a wolf's head".
She raises her eyes and looks at him for a while. Then she purses her lips and turns her gaze back down. She doesn't answer him. In the silence that falls upon them there's just the scratching of the knife she's using to peel the carrots. The witcher looks at her expectantly. Finally he speaks again, his voice still calm and quiet, but more insistent than before:
"This medallion is very important to me. I cannot go back on the road without it".
Once again the silence is his only answer. He sighs. He's getting impatient, but he doesn't want to show that. He grips the edge of the table and props himself against it. The stitches in his thigh itch and hurt. He grimaces and puts his weight onto the other leg.
"I understand if you took it as a payment for your trouble", he tries again. "But I need it. I can pay you".
"We're no thieves".
Her high voice is but a whisper, but there's a soreness ringing clearly in it. She grimaces, puts her knife away and goes to one of the chests. She opens it and rummages through its contents for a while. When she comes back, there's a medallion with a wolf's head dangling from her hand. She looks anxiously at the witcher.
"Wszebora took it off when the fever took hold of you. She was afraid that the chain would strangle you. She put it away and wanted to give it back when you'd feel better. She must have forgotten".
Cudka rolls the chain in her hands and sighs. She looks sad and resigned. The witcher is quiet. Slowly, with reluctance, she raises her hand towards him. She drops the medallion onto his hand and then it quivers, the ruby eyes of the wolf brighten up. The gazes of the witcher and the girl cross. Her eyes are full of fear and they silently beg him.