Again, warning for graphic injury description, blood. Whump and angst and Paiiin with capital P. It is shorter this time though :D

For a short period of time, there was almost a blessed peace. Geralt sat on the stool wavering, barely holding up and let the students do they task. They cleaned his chest and back from the blood with a clean cloth and cold water that left him shivering under their bloody, tiny hands. He hissed at the cold, but it was almost comforting.

"Undress him," Nenneke said, coming back from the fireplace, bringing a vial with some concoctions and a bowl with a salve. As the girls started undoing his boots, she gently stirred some of the salve into his wounds and spread a piece of gauze over them to cover it. It was thickened with honey, and it plastered nicely.

With the help of the students, Geralt stood up and let the young girls take off his pants. He didn't have the courage to look if they blushed doing it. It was only a few steps towards the bed, but he needed to be supported all the way, he couldn't put any weight on the leg. The stabbing pain was relentless. With a relieved sigh, he finally dropped on the bed and inclined to lie down.

"Carefully," Nenneke stopped him and formed the pillows so he wouldn't lie directly on his shoulder. "It will still need more cleaning later," Nenneke remarked as he set his back on the mattress and winced. He didn't really care, but nodded. He hoped he would be passed out or at least asleep for the next fortnight. With visible relief from not needing to use any of his tired muscles, released a shaky breath.

Nenneke briskly dressed the wounds on his chest and belly too and pulled away. A blanket was tossed over him. He still shook here and there, probably not only from the cold but from the loss of blood or a shock too. Only his right leg was left fully exposed. Geralt looked down at the leg. What he saw made his stomach sink. The thigh was swollen and red and the arrow was wedged in as if it belonged there.

His eyes rolled up when he only imagined the process of extraction, when even looking at it made the wound hurt more.

"You want to cut it out?" Geralt asked in a low, raspy voice, not really saying the question mark.

"No other way around it," the priestess said, gathering her tools and taking a seat at the bed. "I will need you to focus on keeping the leg still. I don't want to cut more than is needed."

The priestess was still mad at him, her rigid expression ablaze.

"How-," Geralt's voice hitched, "how am I supposed to do that?"

"I hope that deep inside your brain there is something called self-preservation, ready to be called upon," she glared at him. "Rhimi and Stelle will hold you."

"I don't want to hurt any of you."

"You won't," the priestess assured sharply, then relented when she noticed the distress in his wretched face. "I am going to inject you with some sedatives. It will help relax your muscles and the pain. It might make you queasy again though."

The witcher clung at her lenient eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath and let his head fall onto the pillow. He felt the priestess take his arm and squeeze it, so his veins were on display. His lip twitched with the sharp stab of pain from the thick needle that punctured his arm. The liquid worked quickly. Soon after, his limbs started getting heavier.

He felt the mattress under him move as the girls stepped on it. One of them sat herself directly on his ankles, the other sat above his left knee and put her hands on the thigh. She didn't press down yet.

Both hands suddenly disappeared and the witcher raised his head to see what was happening.

"It will bleed a lot," said Nenneke, explaining why they were stuffing cloth everywhere around the leg and why there was a small fire in a pot beside the bed with iron spikes in it. "There's plenty of blood vessels in the thigh muscle, I might need to cauterize some."

Geralt diverted his eyes. He felt sick again and his stomach threatened to convulse again. He felt so weak that the idea of throwing up again passed quickly.

"Here, put this into your mouth," Nenneke offered him a rolled-up piece of leather to stick between his teeth. His limbs and body became too heavy, but he could still move his arms.

The gesture sent him into a cold sweat. He bit down on it and released a ragged breath. His heart seemed like wanting to jump out of his chest and started beating against his ribs uncomfortably hard.

Rhimi's hands set down again on the thigh and pressed down this time. Not much, but he wouldn't be able to defy her with the heaviness spreading in his body. While he could still feel and move, it required effort he did not possess.

Nenneke first cleaned the wound with water. Then, holding the knife where she was about to cut, she said a quick and silent prayer and dipped the edge into the flesh. Small lines after another along the wood.

Geralt bit down harder, his lids pressing together. Soft, muffled sounds escaped his lips as the priestess continued deeper. His breaths came out shallow when she stopped, and he was blessed with a quick break.

A gauze was tucked into the hole to dry out the blood and before it was taken out, Rhimi's hands bore down firmly. He knew to expect more pain, yet it surprised him. It was short but sharp as if someone had stuck a dozen needles right into his flesh and then set them on fire. The same pain came again and again, leaving acute throbbing on those spots until his thigh muscle twitched without control.

"You are doing good, Geralt, just breathe through it," Nenneke said supportively as she saw him struggling. Then she resumed the cutting again.

A tear trickled down his cheek, melting with the beads of sweat and he couldn't suppress a groan. The pain skyrocketed too quickly. He wanted to beg her to stop because his lungs and ribs hurt from hyperventilating. But he couldn't even say a word. He felt as the tin tip of the blade touched the arrowhead and then slid below it, grazing the bone from the side. He gave everything he had to focus on not bolting away. If he really wanted to, he could even with the drugs in his system.

The priestess withdrew the blade and stuck another gauze in. Keeping a slight pressure over it, she let him calm down.

"Just a little longer, Geralt," Nenneke said and squeezed his arm.

Geralt didn't make a sound.

A smell of burning flesh lingered around as a few more veins had to be cauterized. Geralt couldn't recognize where the pain hit anymore. It hurt everywhere.

Hands driving his leg down disappeared and he tried to move.

"No, Geralt, be still," Nenneke said and brushed his clenched fist. "It is almost over."

Geralt blinked away the tears and caught a glimpse of the tool the priestess held in her hand. Tweezers with large spoon-looking jaws at the end. It was probably the same thing that had been stuck into his back a few moments ago.

"Rhimi, hold firmly now. Don't let him move."

Geralt just stared at the ceiling as Nenneke budged the shaft. Fortunately, it was loose enough, and no more cutting was needed. She pulled the wooden part of the arrow, leaving the head in. Then the tweezers were slowly but mercilessly forced deep into the wound and the witcher almost crushed the leather with his teeth.

Nenneke was fast. She clamped the arrow-end down to the head over the barbs and pulled the whole thing out. Geralt growled through the leather piece and expected some relief. Nothing like that came to pass though.

Blood was pouring out in vast amounts; it was warm and sticky, and his leg trembled uncontrollably with the pain.

The priestess threw aside the tool, wrapped the leg with cloth and squeezed tightly. She closed her own eyes shut when the witcher spat out the leather and cried out. His back arched as the pain burst through his whole body and pulsated at the nerve endings. His body twisted to the side. Rhimi jumped off the bed and tried to keep him on his back. He didn't fight with her and just whimpered as she sat next to him and put her hand on his chest.

"Shh," she soothed, when Nenneke applied another ruthless compression and the witcher had no strength to make a slightest protest.

They tied the leg and put some pillows beneath to elevate it while Rhimi found a wet piece of fabric and started wiping away the sweat that formed on his forehead.

"Rest."

They let him be, but he couldn't fall asleep. Everything still hurt too much to let go so he watched through a thin line between his eyelids what was happening. He knew this wasn't the end. The student left his side and started cleaning up their surroundings with the other girl while Nenneke kept checking if the bleeding stopped.

"Geralt," the priestess said after a while. "Can you feel this?" She pinched his leg on various spots and looked at him with a question. "Geralt?"

Geralt was silent for a long time. It wasn't easy to find his voice and compel his vocal cords to work. He only nodded.

Relief washed through Nenneke's face. She even smiled a bit. She came to him to stroke his damp hair. She couldn't be mad at him anymore. Her own heart ached with his pain.

"The bleeding subsided, I will remove the compression now," Nenneke said.

Geralt saw as her eyes turned watery and he knew the reason behind it was that it was going to hurt again. He wanted to assure her that it was okay, but she didn't look.

The witcher guessed correctly. Upon removal, every fraction of damaged skin and flesh started to hurt anew. As if the pain woke up and attacked him twice as hard. He grew restless as the feeling of million pins and needles grew only stronger. He was reminded to breathe through it and keep still. He mastered all of that until darkness finally took his vision and consciousness away.

The night dragged on. The priestess looked through the window and couldn't see any hints of the dawn coming. The lack of sleep caught up with her and she had to rub her eyes to chase the sleepiness away. She refused to leave Geralt without anyone keeping an eye on him. Thanks to his mutations, she knew, his life wasn't in danger and she could have let Rhimi or Stelle look after him, but he was precious to Nenneke, and she wouldn't be able to fall asleep anyway.

After he passed out from the overwhelming pain, all she wanted was to hold him close and erase the pain from his face. What she had to do was the opposite thing. His wounds needed more care, cleaning, and some of them sewing up. And Nenneke had to do that with a heavy heart and shaking hands. He slept through the most, but he squirmed here and there, letting out resigned sounds of discomfort. And she had to calm him down and continue no matter how gut-wrenching it was. When she was done, he could finally fall into a long, restless sleep.

Silent whimpering startled her from staring up at the moon, she turned and was at his bed the next second. She couldn't see anything out of the expected wrong, so she concluded that his pain grew stronger, or he was dreaming a nightmare. Or both.

"Oh my poor boy," Nenneke said more to herself and sat down next to him. Geralt must have felt her presence because he moved his arm away. She took his hand into hers and wanted to stroke his pained face, but she never got to do that. Geralt tensed immediately on her touch and stirred away.

Nenneke froze and her chest tightened.

"Geralt, what's wrong?" she asked with concern, trying to touch his face again.

"Don't, please... no more. Not now."

Nenneke's eyes filled up with tears and a bump formed in her throat. Did her little wolf just beg her not to hurt him?

"Oh, Geralt," the priestess said, voice quivering. "No more pain. I promise." She reached to run her hand through his hair and was relieved when he finally let her. She stroked his hair persistently until she felt him ease under her touch and continued even after he dozed off again.

"I'm so sorry, my beautiful boy. I shouldn't have been so hard on you."

The priestess only now realized how she must have hurt him. Her anger blinded her and seeing Geralt refusing her love was like a kick in the gut. It was her nature to be stern, but she never meant to hurt anyone with that approach. It was her coping mechanism. Her anger was a way to handle seeing him suffer. Especially when he was the one who got

She wiped away a tear and folded her hands around Geralt's.

"You keep thinking you can overpower everything no matter the gravity of your opponent, no matter the consequences. And I know you are strong... strongest and fastest of them all even... and you have a good heart, but you cannot think you are invincible. I am hard on you because I just cannot watch idly as you destroy yourself."

Geralt's fingers twitched in hers and she lowered her voice to whisper.

"I cannot stand seeing you get hurt and I just hurt you myself. Please, forgive me. You didn't deserve that."

A mellow sound came from the witcher's throat, barely a hum with a dissent tone.

"No, I did... deserve it. You were right," the witcher spoke through his slumber. He still looked deep asleep as his eyes stayed closed.

The priestess didn't know he was awake and listening and she disagreed with what he said. Yet, had no intentions to argue. "Sleep, Geralt. You need it. Let's talk about it another time."

As a matter of fact, she would rather they would never come back to it. Nor she, nor him needed to be reminded of this night. She knew she would continue her stringent demeanor right in the morning, but she would always try to balance it better. Her white wolf was careless about his limits, and he needed someone to point at them. It was one of her purposes. But above that, she was there to show him someone cared. Not because it was her purpose, but because she wanted to.

His reckless trip back to Brillen, that was something else. They would have to talk about it one day for sure.

Since their little words exchange, a huge rock fell from the backs of both. It seemed that even the witcher had a little more peaceful sleep now. The priestess stayed at the bed and watched his chest rise and fall in even breaths until dawn.