A/N: This chapter is coming to the mirrors one day late as a result of how swamped I was with IRL work yesterday. You all have my sincerest apologies for that.

That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Also, please note that a slight alteration has been made to chapter four as a result of reconsidered Aura mechanics-discussion on the spacebattles thread showed me that there was a problem with how I had Yang's Aura and the Hanged Man's interact.

5

Geralt knelt soundlessly, his chainmail barely clinking on his form as he studied the ground.

"This is where Summer was attacked," he said quietly, noticing the atrophied root structure protruding like a shrub. "The leshen's attack's left traces."

"So, further in?" Fox breathed.

Geralt nodded and stood back up. "Be careful," he said quietly. "Our priority is to ascertain how old this leshen is and how long it's been near this town. If it's been long enough, it may have marked an inhabitant."

"Marked?" Yatsuhashi asked quietly, his eyes darting around for any sign of life.

Geralt nodded. "Old leshens who stay in one place for long enough can mark a person living nearby," he said. "As long as that person stays in its territory, it can't be killed. If it's marked someone here, it makes our job a lot harder."

He led the four student Huntsmen further into the dark woods. The trees were thick and a deep green, with a few starting to yellow with the coming autumn. The canopy dimmed the light as surely as the roof of a cave. Coco had taken off her sunglasses, but Geralt doubted she could see especially well even without them. Witcher mutations, as always, had their advantages.

His eyes glimmered faintly as they surveyed the area. All around he could see vague signs of the leshen's habitation. Wolf tracks too close together at too high a speed—running wolves liked to separate and surround their prey.

He held up an arm to order a halt. Carefully, trying to minimize the crunch of dead leaves under his boots, he padded up to a boulder and ran his finger along the gash marks in the stone.

"Deep," he muttered, feeling the gravelly silt in the wound. "Marking its territory, maybe?"

"Do leshens do that?" Velvet asked.

Geralt tilted his head from side to side. "Sometimes," he said. "Not in general, though. They do it when they first come to a new habitat, or when they feel their sovereignty is threatened."

"I thought the attacks had started recently?" Coco asked.

"Not always a guarantee," Geralt said lowly. "Sometimes a leshen will… well, not coexist, but refrain from attacking the people of a settlement for generations at a time." He inhaled deeply through his nose, and blinked. "What…?"

"What is it?" Coco said quickly.

"I smell…" Geralt trailed off. He wasn't sure, yet. "Follow me."

He led them between the trees, his ears perked for any sound to hint at an approaching Relict, occasionally pausing to sniff at the air.

Soon, it was unmistakable. "Blood," he said lowly. "A couple of days old, at most. Summer hasn't let anyone in from the village in that time."

"So who could have died?" Velvet whispered.

Geralt came around a copse of trees and stopped, because there was his answer. He knelt.

"A woman," he said slowly, studying the corpse. "About fifty, I'd guess. Stabbed through the heart." He carefully pulled aside the cloth covering the bloodied entrance wound in the body's chest. "No bruising around the entry," he murmured. "This was done with a long blade, and sharp—the wound cuts all the way through her body, but the blade still wasn't hilted."

"A person did this," Yatsuhashi said darkly.

"A human or a faunus," Geralt agreed, "most likely. Whether they're a person remains to be seen."

He reached out and lifted the dead woman's eyelids. Her irises were green—a bright, poisonous green like no human eyes—and her sclera were darkening in death, the cataracts becoming a dark, wooden brown.

"Well, well," Geralt said slowly. "Seems like we've got an amateur Witcher around here."

"What?" Velvet asked.

"This was the leshen's mark," Geralt said. "Can't be certain, but it seems likely that she was killed in preparation for an attack on the leshen itself."

"Another Witcher?" Coco asked.

Geralt shook his head. "There aren't any other Witchers in this… part of the world," he said. "But there might be someone who knows their way around leshens." He looked around. "A trail," he murmured, noting the crushed leaves where feet had trodden. "Come on."

Only one set of footprints was visible, and they matched the leather boots worn by the dead woman. He traced them back, CFVY following behind him.

As they followed, however, Geralt suddenly stopped, his head tilted to catch a sound. "Shit," he murmured.

"What is it?" Coco asked. Velvet hushed her; Geralt noticed her long ears were raised and alert.

Their eyes met. On the edge of his hearing there was the low crackling groan of a leshen's passage.

If they were very, very lucky, it hadn't noticed them. Geralt didn't like their odds.

Sure enough, the sound was getting louder. Now the students could hear it, and they were looking at him worriedly.

Geralt blinked once, slowly. He had a choice—either they could stay here and hope it was going to pass them, or they could start moving and hopefully evade it, but certainly draw its attention.

He drew the silver. "Come on," he ordered, his voice no longer at a whisper. "Move!"

He led them at a run, following the footprints. If necessary, he could turn and fight the leshen, even though he couldn't kill it until the totems were destroyed.

The sound grew ever louder, slowly overtaking the quiet of the forest until it was as though every tree in the wood was groaning in fury at their passage.

Geralt blinked as they cleared a thicket. The footprints led into a house in a small clearing; a glade untouched by the woods.

There, at the doorway, stood a man in a bone-white mask, long green sword drawn.

"In here!" he called. "It can't follow you in here!"

Geralt nodded and led his students out of the trees into the house. The man stood aside to allow them passage and them followed them in, shutting the door behind him.

As the passage shut, the droning sound of the leshen was abruptly cut off. Silence fell but for the five runners' heavy breathing.

Geralt studied the man who had granted them shelter. He was clad in armor of fur and leather, in black and green. His voice had had a very faint Mistralian lilt when he had spoken. A mask-like helmet, white with green trim, covered his face, but behind it green eyes were appraising Geralt in return.

"Bit foolish," the man said dryly, "to challenge a forest spirit without knowing what you're doing."

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "And you do?" he asked.

"Of course," said the man scornfully. "The tribe has passed down the secrets of the Old Beasts since time immemorial."

Geralt considered the man for a moment. "I call them leshens," he said. "Hunting them, and other things, is my job. You're the one who killed its mark a few days back?"

The man nodded, his eyes blinking behind his mask. "So you do know your way around them," he said. "Well, that's a surprise. Who are you, Huntsman?"

"Not a Huntsman," Geralt said. "A Witcher. Have you destroyed its totems?"

"Not yet," the man shook his head. "I've been preparing my Dust for an excursion. I planned to leave this place at noon, when visibility is best."

Geralt nodded. "Good move," he agreed.

"So, wait a minute," Coco said, looking between them. "Who are you, anyway?"

The man drew himself up. "I am Zielon Parcella of the Corvidae," he said proudly. "Warrior under Chief Branwen. I am here to claim a trophy for my family and my people."

Geralt blinked once. "Branwen?" he asked. "As in, Qrow Branwen?"

This was apparently the wrong thing to say. Zielon growled and tensed, his hand going to the hilt of his now-sheathed sword. "Do not speak of that traitor in my presence," he growled.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "…Sure," he said after a moment. "We've got a leshen to kill. This place have windows?"

Zielon nodded slowly. "It does," he said. "We should be able to see when the monster moves on."

Geralt nodded. "We should be careful," he said. "This thing got through a Huntress' aura in one hit. There were extenuating circumstances, but this one's gotta be at least five hundred years old, if not more. Probably the oldest leshen I've ever heard of."

"Indeed," Zielon agreed. "The woman who lived here—her family have coexisted with the beast for generations. It protected them, and they gave it immortality. Pah." He huffed derisively. "An unnatural pact."

"Ironic you'd say that about a nature spirit," Geralt said. "I suppose the pact means it can't touch anything in this house?"

"The forest cannot expand into the cottage's grounds," Zielon said, "and the spirit cannot leave its forest. We are safe here."

"But we still have to kill it," Geralt said dryly, pushing past him. "Come on, CFVY, we need to find a window."

"The sun is as high as it'll get," Zielon said, straightening from the table where he'd used as a makeshift workbench to treat his blade with Dust. "We much act."

Geralt nodded. "Right," he agreed, turning to the third occupant of the cottage's sitting-room. "Coco, get your team," he ordered. "Time to move."

Coco nodded, her face set. "On it," he said, and left.

Geralt corked the potion he'd been brewing and stowed it in his pouch. He took a moment to run his fingers across the arrayed corks of his decoctions, before choosing one.

The ancient leshen decoction would charge his body with energy, growing more potent the more he expended that energy on his Signs. With how much he was going to have to use both Quen and Igni, that could only help.

He grimaced as the burning philter flowed down his throat, then grunted in pain as the fire spread through his body rapidly, his mutant biology transmitting it quickly throughout his extremities.

He screwed his eyes shut for a moment, then blinked a few times to clear the greenish toxicity film from his eyes.

"You don't look well," Zielon commented idly.

"Yeah," Geralt said roughly. "I get that a lot."

"We ready?" Coco asked, coming in with her team.

Geralt nodded. "Move out," he ordered.

They left the house quietly, cautiously, and instantly Geralt was stretching his hearing for crows.

There. About half a kilometer away, to the north.

"This way," he hissed. "Keep quiet."

They crept amidst the trees, making as little noise as possible. Not the slightest sound was heard—no trace of birds or squirrels could be found. They were all in thrall to the leshen, and it was keeping its agents as quiet as they were.

It took some time, but at length they reached the totem; a five-foot tall affair of sticks and bones. "The moment I destroy this thing," Geralt said quietly, "the leshen will know exactly where we are if it doesn't already, and keep in mind—it can attack from this range. Be ready to dodge something, and keep your Aura up."

Coco nodded. "Got it," she said. "When you're ready."

Geralt quickly put up a Quen shield, allowed himself a moment to recover, and then thrust forward an Aard.

The totem collapsed and immediately the woods around them started groaning, the very trees seeming to rebel against the destruction. There was a rumbling beneath their feet—

"Roll!" Geralt ordered sharply, and dove out of the way just in time.

—and roots trhust upward from beneath all six of them. Geralt dodged his, but was struck a glancing blow by one which had been aiming for Velvet. Immediately, he felt his Quen shield drop, but more than that, he felt an odd sensation of being depleted.

"Was anyone struck?" Zielon said sharply.

Geralt ignored him, his eyes closing as he tried to self-diagnose.

The magic had drained his Aura. No, drained was the wrong word.

"This thing attacks our Aura directly," he said quietly.

"Indeed," Zielon said grimly. "Many of the Old Beasts do. It is why they survive, despite the rise of Huntsmen. They are dangerous in ways the Grimm are not."

"No wonder it drained the Huntress' Aura in one hit," Velvet said quietly.

"Right," Geralt said quietly. "That changes things. Everyone, be careful. Get hit directly by this once, it'll probably drain all your aura. Get hit a second time, and you're dead."

He cast Quen and cast his senses about, listening for crows. "This way," he said. "And be careful—the leshen may try to head us off."

They moved more quickly now—the leshen knew where they had been and where they were headed, so stealth was less vital than it had been.

Geralt started to regret the incautious approach when he heard the crackling groans of the leshen directly ahead of them.

"It's between us and the totem," he said darkly. "Zielon, take CFVY and take out that totem."

"You will fight it?" Zielon asked.

Geralt nodded, drawing his sliver and casting Quen. "You five go around," he said. "I'll be fine. This is my job."

"Be safe," Velvet ordered worriedly.

Geralt nodded at his four students. "Same to you," he said, and walked forward.

The leshen struck with roots before he could see it. He rolled out the way, then sidestepped a charging wolf, his silver sword carving a gash down its side which left it whimpering and lying on its side, unable to run as he bent to stab it through the heart.

Crows, then. Geralt rolled out of the way of the charging flock and threw an Igni behind him to burn their feathers and render them flightless.

Acorns began to ping off of his golden barrier as squirrels tossed them down from the branches. He ignored them as a nuisance and kept moving, sidestepping another wolf and beheading it as it passed. He rolled to avoid another root attack and ducked beneath a low-hanging branch of a nearby tree which swung at him like a club.

But when a branch protruded at lightning speed from what had before been smooth bark, he was unprepared for it. It burst his Quen shield, casting him back some ten feet and sending him tumbling.

He managed to catch himself and come up kneeling, but he felt his Aura draining. He hissed and tried to tighten his grip, metaphorically, on the soul energy.

Something clicked.

He blinked. His Aura seemed to suddenly have begun to drain slowly, but he saw, all around him, a faint green glow, suffusing all living plants and animals in the forest.

And there, behind a thicket of trees, that glow coalesced and brightened into a familiar silhouette in glowing forest-green.

My Semblance, he realized immediately.

The glow sharpened, seemed to grow more pronounced, in the bark of a tree to his left. He rolled out of the way as another grasping branch shot out of the bare wood and struck for him.

I can see its attacks coming.

He sidestepped a wolf and began to run toward the Leshen, rolling to dodge a root attack as he moved.

He saw the glow of the Leshen flowing into the ground and move in his direction like an underground stream of water. He recast Quen quickly and sidestepped as it burst out of the ground alongside a host of rising roots just a foot from him, and was immediately swinging.

Once, twice, Aerondight rang out as it struck the beast, which gave a groaning wail. Then Geralt was jumping backward to avoid a clawing arm, and rolling to avoid a burst of roots.

He came up from the roll beside the leshen and struck it with a thrust. It staggered back, moaning in its strange, wooden way and clawed at him with its arm.

He jumped back… right into the root which drove itself into his back from behind.

His Quen shield exploded again, throwing him right past the leshen. The glowing green of the leshen's magic faded from his vision as his Aura reached zero.

He picked rolled into a standing position. Not a moment too soon, as roots thrust upward from below where he'd been prone.

He turned back to the leshen, casting Quen as he turned. It was watching him through those empty eyes, as still as the trees around them, seeming perfectly content to wait.

Geralt palmed a Dancing Star and threw it, then rolled out of the way of the reprisal. He hear the leshen wail awfully as it was lit afire, and felt the breeze of displaced air as roots thrust upward where he'd been standing. He ran towards the beast, intent on strafing along its side, swinging his sword as he passed.

He hit the beast, but it hit him back, breaking his Quen again and throwing him back against the trunk of a tree. The moment he realized what his back was against, he tried to push away and roll, just an instant too late. The thrusting branch tore a gash out of his side as he moved away.

He growled, feeling the blood run and hearing the faint hiss as his toxic ichor hit the forest floor and boiled with the decoction's poison. His teeth gritted against the pain, he cast Quen again and lowered himself back into a ready position.

When the leshen staggered for no obvious cause, without being struck, he knew it meant that CFVY and Zielon had managed to destroy the two remaining totems.

He dove for it, Aerondight spinning in the air around him. It cut deep into the leshen's chest, and he rolled away as it retaliated, then rolled again to avoid its striking roots.

Three wolves dove at him from behind, but wolves are not stealthy attackers, and he spun, his sword out in front of him, cleaving all three across the muzzles before getting hit by another attacking branch and being cast sideways.

He rolled into a standing position and cast Quen again before looking back at the leshen.

"Almost over," he said coldly. "Your totems and mark are gone. You die now, it's all over."

The leshen, of course, answered only with another attack with its roots, which he rolled into it to avoid. He came out of the roll with his hand coming out in Igni.

The leshen let out another groaning cry as it was set aflame for the second time that fight and Geralt, sensing a chance, swung the silver sword hard.

A mistake. The leshen was stronger than most of its kind, and was not staggered by the flame. Before the sword came down, its claw had come out, and Geralt's Quen had shattered again, casting him down at its feet.

This was a bad position. He was in melee range, off of his feet, and it was bound to be ready to cast another root attack.

He rolled out of the way as fast as he could, but was surprised when it was enough. Then he noticed the gunfire.

"Get some!" roared Coco Adel, her minigun whirring as it fired a stream of silver into the leshen's staggering form.

This was what an opportunity looked like. Geralt forced himself to his feet, brought up his sword, and with a wild cry, swung it into the monster's neck.

With a crackle, a groan, and a sound like thunder, the leshen went down. It moved on the ground, reaching for him, but Geralt rose up, ignoring the impact of a stray two bullets on his bicep and thigh, and thrust downward.

The leshen gave a final, horrific wail as the silver sword impaled its chest, and then was still.

Geralt forced himself to pull Aerondight out of the leshen and sheathe it. Coco was looking at him in horror.

"I hit you," she murmured. "Your aura…?"

"Ran out," Geralt said hoarsely. "While back." He looked at Zielon, behind the leader of the student team. "You need a trophy?"

"I shall take its horns," Zielon said. "They will suffice."

"Good," Geralt said, fumbling for Swallow. "CFVY, think you can carry a body?"

Velvet wrinkled her nose. "We have to carry it back?"

"Not it," Geralt said, his knees buckling even as he managed to pull out the orange potion. "Me."

He pawed at the stopper, trying to open it. "Gotta close the wound," he mumbled, almost feverish. "Close the wound…"

He was aware of Coco coming forward, trying to prop him up. She was saying something, but he could barely hear her through the fog. He got the stopper off at last, downed a dose of Swallow, and that was the last he knew for some time.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Geralt."

Geralt's eyes fluttered open. "Summer?" he asked weakly.

"Got it in one," said Summer's voice gently. "Don't try to move; that thing did a number on you."

The roofbeams above came into focus. He was in the same clinic Summer had been in before they'd fought the leshen, and by her voice a few feet to his right he thought she was still lying in the bed adjacent to his.

"It's dead, right?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," Summer chuckled. "Coco told me. Definitely dead. They destroyed the totems and… and Zielon took the antlers."

Her voice had broken slightly on the man's name. Geralt caught it. "You know him?" he asked.

A sigh. "Not directly," Summer said quietly. "But he claimed to be working for a Chief Branwen, right?"

Geralt tried to nod. "Any relation to Qrow?" he asked.

"His sister," Summer said sadly. "My old partner."

Geralt blinked. "Sounds like a long story."

"It is," Summer chuckled wryly, "and not one you're in any shape to hear. I'm almost recovered from my Aura exhaustion, but I'm still on bedrest for another day. Coco's taken command; she sent word to Beacon the moment you got back."

"How long was I out?" Geralt asked.

"Eighteen hours," Summer said. "You blacked out at about two in the afternoon yesterday, and it's eight in the morning now."

Geralt nodded. "I should be good by the evening, then," he said, closing his eyes. "Thanks for catching me up, Summer."

"No problem," she said. "Get some sleep."

Geralt did.

When he next awoke, the orange light streaming in from the window told him it was evening. His wounds had knitted up—although the gash in his side would be leaving another new scar—and most of his strength had returned. Even his Aura was mostly back.

He sat up.

"You needn't be quite so eager to aggravate your wounds," said a dry, achingly familiar voice from his bedside.

Geralt whirled. There, in her customary robes of black and white, her violet eyes sparkling as she studied him, was… "Yen?"

She smiled. "Geralt," she replied. "You really must be more careful."

Geralt ignored that. "What are you doing here?" he asked, blinking. "When did you arrive?"

She laughed. "Only a day and a half ago," she said. "Shortly after you left for this contract. When Miss Adel sent word that you were injured, we came with the relief group. May I say that these Bullheads are incredibly convenient?"

Geralt huffed a slight laugh. "They are that," he agreed. "You said—we?"

"Indeed," said a voice from the doorway as it opened.

"Regis!" Geralt said, the smile that had already touched his features widening.

The vampire returned it, his lips pressed slightly together to keep his sharp teeth hidden. "Hello, my friend," he said in that crisp tone of his. "How have you been?"

Geralt shrugged, pushing himself back against the headboard so he could lean back in a sitting position. "Not bad," he said honestly. "Remnant's not a bad place, if you ignore the Grimm."

"Which, of course, you are not," Regis said lightly. "You are a Witcher, after all."

Geralt snorted. "Fair enough."

"On that topic," Yennefer said, and there was a slight edge to her voice, "why on earth was a leshen that problematic for you? You've killed ancient leshens without nearly so much trouble."

Geralt sighed. "Couple of reasons," he said, closing his eyes as he thought. "First, it drained my Aura—which isn't too big of problem, since I'm not used to using it yet, but it's important anyway. Second, that wasn't an ancient leshen."

Yennefer frowned. "All the more—"

"You don't get it," Geralt said quietly. "That thing was older than Regis. Half a millennium, at least."

Its bark had been knarled beyond any leshen Geralt had seen before, its lichens practically trailing on the ground. Besides those pieces of evidence, however, it had done more damage more quickly than any other the Witcher had encountered.

"Indeed?" Regis said slowly. "That could explain it. This is, I suppose, the cost of a lack of Witchers and a relatively small monster population. Very little competition or predation."

"Would the Grimm not attack them?" Yennefer asked. "Surely they can't appreciate having a Relict set up shop in one of their forests."

"Grimm don't seem to work like that," Geralt said. "They generally don't target anything that isn't sapient, and leshens aren't, technically. Sentient, yes; sapient, no. I don't think they care about things like territory."

Yennefer considered that. "I can think of a few reasons why that might be the case," she said slowly, "But none of them make too much sense. Hm."

"We shall have more time to study the Grimm, I am sure," Regis said. "Geralt, are you feeling up to a walk? The others would like to see you, I'm sure."

Geralt nodded and swung his legs over the side of the bed before standing. He noticed, then, that he had been stripped of his armor and was wearing only a loose-fitting white shirt and pants. "Any idea where my gear is?" he asked.

"The closet, there," Yennefer said, pointing.

"I will allow you to change," Regis said, retreating behind the door. "Come outside when you're ready."

He shut the door behind him. Geralt crossed to the wardrobe and opened it.

He stripped off the shirt and reached for his knapsack and the underarmor contained therein.

"At some point," Yennefer said idly, "you shan't have anything but scar tissue left."

"Some women like scars," Geralt said lightly, pulling out an undershirt.

"Mm." Yennefer murmured. "Scars are pleasant in moderation, perhaps. I've been known to be partial. It's rather more than that, though."

Geralt glanced at her, eyebrow raised. "How so?" he asked.

She was watching him, her eyes dark. "Scar tissue is less sensitive, for one," she said evenly. "One of these days, I'll be able to touch you and you shan't feel a thing."

Geralt rolled his eyes. "That's an exaggeration and you know it," he said dryly. "I'll be dead long before that happens."

"Yes," Yennefer said lowly. "Yes, you will."

Geralt slipped off his pants and pulled on undergarments. He wasn't about to push Yen. Something was clearly on her mind, but she'd tell him if she wanted to.

"I suppose this is the price for my foolishness in falling for a Witcher," she said wryly. "Look at me now; worrying like a damsel in a shitty three-lien romance."

Geralt snorted. "Lien?" he asked. "You've gone native awfully quickly."

"I might as well try to get acclimated quickly," Yennefer said. "But really, Geralt. Do try to be more careful, all right?"

Geralt buckled his britches and turned to face her. "I can't promise anything," he said honestly. "Just like you can't promise me you won't someday get yourself killed in an experiment gone wrong."

Yennefer looked away. "I think I might be able to give up magic for you," she said quietly. "I've managed with politics."

Geralt ran his eyes over her for a moment before replying. "And I could probably give up the trade for you," he said. "But I'm not going to ask you to give up magic, even though it might kill you."

She sighed. "Damn it all, Geralt," she said wearily. "Fine. But do try."

Geralt's lips twisted into a smile. "Depends," he said slowly, "on what you brought with you from back home."

Yennefer met his eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said demurely.

"I'll give you a hint," he said. "Four legs, white fur, one horn."

She grinned at him. "Ciri was quite unhappy about the extra load," she said. "I had to leave a few books behind."

"I'll be sure to get you new ones," Geralt promised. "But you did bring it?"

"Of course."

"Then I'll be sure to try my hardest," Geralt said, grinning as he clasped together his chestpiece.

"Goodwitch looked quite confused when I brought it to your rooms," Yennefer said, chuckling. "I was tempted to explain its purpose to her. In detail."

Geralt grimaced. "I like this job," he said, slipping on his gauntlets. "I'd like to keep it."

He knelt to put on and clasp his boots, before standing again. "There we are," he said. "Lead the way, oh great and powerful sorceress."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Don't engage in foreplay unless you mean it, Geralt," she chided him. "Come."

He chuckled as he followed her out of the room, down the hall, and out of the clinic.

"Geralt!" The moment he was out the door, Ciri was in his arms.

"Ciri," he laughed, returning her embrace. "Welcome back."

She smiled up at him. "And how has Remnant been, this past month or so?" she asked.

"Not bad," Geralt said. "Got some new toys." He pulled out Vesemir and handed it to her. "Didn't use it against the leshen," he said. "Haven't trained with it yet."

Ciri giggled as she took the pistol and examined it. "Overengineered and overcomplicated," she said, "like every other Remnan weapon. I approve."

Geralt grinned and looked around. "Damn near everyone's here," he said incredulously.

Ciri smiled. "We had to take two bullheads to have room for all of us and enough to spare for all of you," she said lightly. "But no one was willing to stay behind."

"An' why should we?" Zoltan asked roughly, the dwarf coming forward and holding out a hand.

Geralt took it and slapped the dwarf on the shoulder, accepting the return palm to the side. "Zoltan," he said with a grin. "Keeping Dandelion in line."

"Aye, but that's nae my job anymore," Zoltan chuckled, nodding back at the bard, who looked affronted. "It'd be hers."

Geralt glanced over, and smiled. "Dandelion, Priscilla," he said, coming forward.

Dandelion moved to shake his hand, but Priscilla beat him to it with an embrace. "Geralt," she said. "It's wonderful to see you again."

Her voice was ever-so-slightly scratchy but otherwise seemed to have recovered fully. "Good to see you too, Priscilla," he said. "Voice doing all right?"

She chuckled. "It'll never be quite the same," she said.

"That's good, though!" Dandelion said, clapping Geralt on the shoulder. "It sounds better now. And Geralt, how have you been? Any new material for my ballads?"

Geralt rolled his eyes. "Remnant has plenty to work with," he said dryly. "No need to drag me into it again." He laid a hand on his old friend's shoulder and held him for a moment, their eyes meeting. "It's great to see you," he said.

"Same to you, Geralt," said Dandelion with a grin. "Same to you."

There was a touch on Geralt's arm. He turned, and Triss pulled him into an embrace.

"Geralt," she murmured.

He smiled slightly and held her close. "Hey, Triss."

They held each other for a moment.

"I wanted to apologize," she said.

"Nothing to apologize for," Geralt replied.

And that was that.

A/N: Regis continues to be the best character besides Geralt himself.

As always, reviews are appreciated but not solicited. The spacebattles forum remains open to discussion.