Every three hours, the witcher was woken up to receive his dose of healing herbs, broth and beef meat; to get his wounds checked and redressed. Every time he anticipated feeling stronger but every time it was the same, if not worse. Rhimi didn't even have to make any efforts to wake him, his sleep was light and unsettled. Each time he woke up covered in sweat and with aching joints and muscles.

Nenneke came to check on him late in the afternoon, wearing her typical stern look. She seemed frankly worried and in haste. At first, she acted almost as if Geralt wasn't present in the room or asleep. Aiming all her many questions at Rhimi, she sat straight next to him and begun examining his state. She frowned as she noticed Geralt didn't even have the strength to appear annoyed, as he usually did.

"How do you feel?" Nenneke finally addressed him. She was touching his cheeks and forehead to feel his temperature.

"Sick," Geralt admitted and closed his eyes as the priestess placed a cold compress on his forehead, wiping away the sweat. "What is wrong?"

"You are healing. It is not a simple process. The fever is normal." The priestess spoke kindly.

The witcher thought he must have looked really sick then. He was aware of his slow reactions and heavy eyelids, even his voice sounded weak.

"Even so, we will have to keep an eye on the fever. If it gets any higher… It is rare for a witcher's body having problems dealing with infection, but it is not unheard of," she said and started peeking under the dressed wounds.

"He complained about his right arm, said he can't move it," Rhimi reported, prompting the priestess to check the shoulder.

"You can't move it, or it just hurts?" Nenneke asked.

"Hurts," Geralt hissed. "But I wouldn't say just." He sighed as she took his arm and already prepared for the pain when she forced a slight movement with it, only to flex. It felt like she was trying to tear his whole arm off. He couldn't swallow the groans.

"Hmm," Nenneke frowned, watching his reaction.

Geralt tucked his arm right back over his chest as she let it go.

"Renaud-" Geralt said still catching his breath, "jiggled with the arrow as if it was a fucking cooking spoon."

"Ah," Nenneke gritted her teeth.

It didn't even matter to Geralt, should she start scolding him again for it. His mind was too occupied with discomfort that he wouldn't be able to process it anyway. She almost didn't.

"That might explain your troubles. You could have mentioned that earlier." She raised her brows and sighed. "Can you still stretch and raise your arm by yourself? Just a little?"

Geralt grimaced. The limb was too heavy, and his shoulder joint wasn't cooperating as it should. The opposite, it worked against any movements. Yet, Geralt was able to comply.

"Good," she stopped him. "This is enough. It means your tendons are not severed. They are probably damaged. But that can be healed with time without any intervention."

"Great." Geralt exhaled from his agonizing efforts.

"Let me look at it." Nenneke motioned him to shift on his side. She ignored his reluctance and patiently waited for him to turn over. When he finally did, she unwrapped the dressing and inspected the shoulder. She felt some heat radiating from it, but nothing too concerning. She soaked a piece of cloth in the water and started washing away the healing salve to get a better look.

"Rhimi cleaned it not so long ago," Geralt protested when he felt the wet cloth on his back. The feat was far from pleasant, and he didn't want to go through it so soon after the last round.

"I'm not cleaning it, I just need to see," Nenneke said with bits of annoyance, but she held back. She noticed how tense he was all the time and although she was not going to clean the wound, she knew her touch still hurt.

"Well?" Geralt asked impatiently after a moment.

"It is inflamed, but that is not unexpected. We must keep cleaning it and wait. Don't lie directly on the wound, put your weight on the left side. And don't move your arm."

She refreshed the salve and wrapped the shoulder. With difficulty, the witcher started turning back, trying to find the right position half on his left side, half on his back, he released an exhausted breath.

"Nenneke," Geralt said in a low voice. "Where did you put my potions?"

Nenneke rolled up her eyes. "Geralt, I've been giving you Swallow the whole time. Laced with some herbs that help neutralize the toxins as well as moderate the pain. You should give me more trust."

"You know I do."

"I know," Nenneke said, cooling his face with the compress again. "Get some rest now."

"No, wait." Geralt said.

Rest was something that he definitely needed, but he didn't want Nenneke to leave just yet. There were too many things he wanted to ask her. About his clothes for sure, and his saddlebags, he wanted those back. His swords too. He wanted to ask about Roach, if she was okay after the long journey with him up on her back. He wanted to ask about Ella as well, if she was safe, if there were no signs of anyone following him. He even wanted to ask if she was still mad.

But he was too drained to ask about any of those things. After considering all the questions to ask her while his eyes still could have been kept open, he asked the one he didn't really want to hear the answer to.

"Was it really a mistake to go back there?"

The priestess stopped in her administration and looked him in the eye.

"Oh, my sweet White Wolf," she stroked his hair. "You know the answer for your question. Now sleep. You will get through this. You'll see."

That was all she said. Geralt leaned into her touch and realized that maybe he did want to hear her say the words. He was sure she was just sweet talking him into sleep and avoiding a possible argument. But now, feeling like shit, he would admit he had made a mistake. A mistake that put his life in danger. A mistake that may put others in danger in future. And all that just for a heedless revenge that was not accomplished.

Before the sleep shrouded the witcher, a decision was made. Not now, not tomorrow and maybe not even next month. But he would make his wrongs right. Not mindless, not heedless, and maybe with some plan. He would stop Renaud no matter what.

Nenneke's strength reserves were coming dangerously close to zero. Two sleepless nights had passed and constant worry over the witcher took its toll on her. Geralt wasn't recovering quickly enough, in fact, he was not recovering at all. Since the day started, his fever became persistent, not coming up, or down. She believed that it didn't go any higher just thanks to the intensive care that her students gave him. But it wasn't only the fever. His injuries haven't been improving either and more of them began to show signs of infection that stubbornly ignored all attempts to cure it. Did the strongest witcher really touch his limits, or were the gods punishing him for his reckless behavior?

At the very moment, both Rhimi and Stelle were staying with him switching at his bedside. Nenneke managed to spend the evening with him, but then, her responsibilities caught up with her. There was still a temple to run, classes to give, women and mothers to tend to, prayers to hold.

And apparently, there was also one persistent little girl who tried to sneak up into the witcher's room.

"Ella, I will take you to Geralt as soon as he feels better. I promise."

The little girl frowned. She was sitting at a small table, an empty teacup in front of her. She held her hands across her chest and wore a face like thunder.

First, the girl was wandering around the temple, opening every door she found, looking for Geralt. Reaping no fruit, she became cunning as a fox. When everyone fell asleep, she went on her hunt. There was not much movement during the nights, so it was easy to find the witcher's personal healers who shuttled between the infirmary and his sickroom. Then she tailed them and found the witcher's room easy enough. Before she could go through the door though, the priestess caught her. Nenneke took her into her chambers and offered a conversation over a tea.

Ella had some courage, Nenneke had to give her that. The temple was dark during the night, and it was easy to get lost in it. She must have had a strong motivation.

"Why do you want to see him so badly?" She asked as she poured hot herb tea from the stove.

The girl squeezed her lips together.

"Come on, Ella. Talk to me," Nenneke said in the most kind voice she could muster. "He is asleep now. If you want, I can give him your message."

The girl dropped her eyes on the table in front of her and turned her lips down.

"He went to my home. To see my father. I wanted to see if he was okay," Ella finally said. "And-" she began and suddenly stopped.

"And what?"

"And I wanted to ask if he…" the girl trailed off again, finding it hard to form words for what she wanted to say. "If he saved the town."

Nenneke could see that the girl's eyes were filling up with tears. The poor girl just didn't want to ask straight whether the witcher killed her monstrous father. The priestess wasn't sure what answer the girl preferred.

"He did not." Nenneke narrowed her eyes and shook her head a little. The girl held her tears bravely, but one fell down her cheek.

"I saw Geralt kill that monster in the woods, why couldn't he just-" Ella sniffled and looked at the priestess with a question.

So, she wanted him dead. Nenneke lost her words.

"I heard others talking, they said Geralt came back wounded. Will he be okay?"

"It will take some time, but he will." Nenneke wasn't sure how much truthful the answer was, but the girl's pleading eyes needed no other answer.

"Can I see him tomorrow then? I want to hire him."

The priestess raised her eyebrows, the girl was serious. She was hurt by her father so deeply that she wanted to assassinate him. And with such determination. It was ripping her heart apart.

"You are a very brave and smart girl, Ella. I understand you. But this is not the right way to save your town."

"What is then?"

"I don't know yet. But we will figure it out. Geralt is very sick right now and he needs to recover first. Believe me, I know already that he will not let people from your town helpless."

The girl nodded, not very convinced, but satisfied for now.

"Now, promise me you'll stop sneaking into every room in the temple and following my students," Nenneke said, giving her a pointed look. "You must honor people's privacy."

Before the girl could reply, there was a short knock on the door, and then it snapped open. Rhimi entered the room, deep lines of disturbed frown on her forehead.

Nenneke took a breath to scold her for rushing in like that, but looking in the eyes of the student, she froze.

"What is it?"

Rhimi flickered her eyes between the priestess and the child and cast an unsure look.

"You have to come with me, mother Nenneke," she said in an acute tone.

"Is it Geralt? Did something happen to him?" Ella asked, faster than Nenneke, worried all the same.

Rhimi could only nod.

Nenneke got up quickly, and the little girl followed.

"You stay here and drink that tea. No discussion."

The priestess dealt with her straight off, sternly, as she knew the best. Then she joined Rhimi, and they strode together in long steps.

As soon as they were out of the room, Rhimi started explaining with a little panicked expression.

"He had turned for the worse. His fever climbed up. We tried to cool him down with cold compresses, but it's not doing much and now he is just shivering. His shoulder has swelled up and is hotter than a molten lead."

"Dammit Geralt," Nenneke lamented silently even as the girl described Geralt's state and speeded up her steps. "What about his other injuries?"

"Still the same. But the shoulder... it wasn't that awful last time we cleaned it. Do you think the shoulder is causing it? An infection has escalated that fast?"

"I will have to see."

"But we have been cleaning it as instructed."

Nenneke shook her head but didn't look at the girl to see her anguish. She heard it in her voice, she was afraid it was her fault.

"Have I done something-" The girl started on that very object but when Nenneke threw a glare at her, she stopped mid-sentence.

"No," the priestess said, turning to her. If anyone was to blame, it was Nenneke, and the feeling of guilt from overlooking something already seized her stomach. "Rhimi, if you want to be a good healer, you cannot ponder over this. You must keep your focus on the patient. Is Geralt awake? I can imagine he is quite intractable."

"Yes. He has been for the past hour. Feeling very uncomfortable. We offered him herbal remedies, but he seems unable to keep those down. Vomiting has left him very weak, so I went for you."

"You did well," the priestess said approvingly and walked forward.

"Mother Nenneke, how is this even possible? He seemed almost fine yesterday. Shouldn't witchers heal faster?"

Nenneke closed her eyes to hide rolling them. "He will be fine again, Rhimi, you will see. We will get to the bottom of it."

It wasn't the first time Nenneke saw the witcher fighting a fever. She knew what to expect. Still, the sight of him lying on the bed, covered in a layer of gleaming sweat, made her heart skip a beat. The worst were the tormenting lines of pain on his face and clenched jaws. That was enough to see how much discomfort he was going through.

He did open his eyes as she entered, just a tiny slit between his lids uncovering the golden, dim eyes. He watched the priestess come closer and then shut his eyes close.

"I told them not to wake you."

"Oh, please." The priestess waved away Stelle, who was tending to him and took her place on the bed. "Wasn't yet my time to sleep." She looked at him with concern and stroked his forehead. Even though they cooled him with compresses, his skin was burning hot, and he quivered at the touch of her hand.

"You l-look tired," he said, trying hard not to slur.

"And you look fresh and full of energy."

Geralt swallowed. "It could have waited till the morning. Or-" Geralt took a heavy breath. "Am I dying?"

"Oh, you fool," the priestess waved him off and continued stroking his damp hair.

"Am I?" he repeated in a reconciled manner.

"What?" Nenneke frowned. "Witchers don't die of infection, didn't you say that?"

"Hmm," he looked up at her, shiver running through him. "It certainly feel-ss like dying."

"I wager it does," she said and patted him gently on his good shoulder. She scrutinized his form for a second and then motioned him to lie on a side.

"My sh-shoulder," he hissed in between shivers as he moved on the bed, the simple turn causing serious trouble. "I c-can't move-" Silent moan escaped his lips as his shaking body forced him to move without control.

"I know, Geralt, I can see it."

The shoulder was twice the normal size, and the swelling has abused the shoulder joint. It must have caused incredible pain on even the slightest movement. Nenneke frown deepened, and she gritted her teeth, glad that the witcher couldn't see her face. The outer wound on his back had started leaking the pus. But the infection was rampaging inside the whole shoulder area.

"Pass me a candle, please," the priestess said to Rhimi, who watched the scene uneasily.

Maneuvering with the candlelight, the priestess inspected the shoulder.

"Come, lie back," she said and carefully helped him hold his arm close to his body as he turned. Sharing a grim look with him, she quickly checked other injuries and sat back to him.

"Tell me," the witcher demanded. "What'-ss wrong?"

"Good news is that your stomach and leg are healing nicely after all. The shoulder - not so. It is infected too deeply and it's causing the fever."

"I gathered that much," Geralt said, calm and resigned.

Nenneke's lips went into tight lines. "There could be still dirt inside or a piece of your shirt. Or the arrow could have been dipped in something. I am not sure, Geralt, but it needs to be tended to."

"Open the wound again?" he asked, his voice shivering, not only from the fever now.

The priestess reached for his good hand and nodded. "Yes, I am sorry, Geralt."

The witcher took in a breath and nodded back. "Okay." He held his breath and prepared to move on his side again.

"No," Nenneke stopped him. "It will have to wait till morning. I need the daylight to see better," she said.

The witcher breathed out with a slight hint of relief.

"You think you can keep on fighting the fever?"

He gave her another slight but affirmative nod and shut his eyes close.

"Good," the priestess said and started cooling his face with the wet cloth. He murmured a protesting hum, as his body shuddered. "I know, but you are too hot. I will place cold cloth on your wrists too."

Geralt responded only with a heavy exhale.

With Rhimi, they wrapped his wrists with cold compresses and shared a frown as the witcher failed to suppress the incoming shivers.

"I'll mix up something for the fever. And a wormwood tea for your stomach."

"Please," he said, eyes still closed. "Can't s-sleep like this."

The priestess stood up from the bed to mix her medicine and let Rhimi periodically change the cloth for new, freezing ones. Geralt was still awake and restless, waiting for the herbs as for salvation.

"Here." She took his head in her hands and helped him drink from a small teacup, then let him swallow a spoon of ground coriander and ginger in oregano oil.

Geralt cringed at the smell and taste but swallowed it willingly. His head just fell back on the pillow lifelessly.

The priestess waited for the medicine to show some effect and after half an hour, there was some improvement. He still shook, but significantly less, and finally fell asleep.

After dictating a new set of instructions to Rhimi, the priestess set off to get a few hours of sleep for herself. She wanted to stay with the witcher, but there was no point in staying there alongside Rhimi, and she couldn't send the girl away either. She could see her blaming herself. If she did send her away, it would only deepen the student's doubts. Besides, she really needed sleep, no matter how short.

Also, there was still a little girl waiting in her room, she hoped.