A/N: Hello all, it's Wednesday so that means it's update day! Yay! I'm hoping this drip feed posting will keep me ahead of you all so you can get regular updates, and at the moment its all looking good. I am currently writing chapter 7, so there's plenty more to come trust me. Thanks for all the follows, favs and reviews so far, they all mean a lot. I welcome all feedback as well, so don't be afraid to tell me if there's something you don't like as well. Anyway, hope you're all staying safe and reading lots of fanfic in the process. I'll leave you to read, review and enjoy! :)

Chapter 3

She could hear the fight from halfway across the forest. The horrendous cries of Mr Deer Head making her stomach churn with anxiety. What in Purgatory was going on?

She had been climbing trees, testing her gradually returning strength, when the howls of wolves made her stop and listen. Honing in on where they were headed she had heard the unmistakable roar of her friend, and he sounded pissed. Coupled with that the sound of metal hitting wood, and…was that someone swearing? Maybe those humans had come back to try and kill her. She couldn't let that stupid creature try and defend her again. He could get hurt. Although, anything hurting her impressively tall companion was hard to believe, more likely he would hurt whoever was attacking him.

Locking onto Mr Deer Head's distinctive scent of rot and animal musk, Ellie started to move through the treetops towards him. As she got closer the howls of anger turned into howls of pain. Whoever was fighting him sounded like they were winning. The loud caw of crows added to the cacophony and she tried to push herself to move faster. Her legs were still very weak and she had to focus all her attention on not slipping as she landed. Her shoes, nearly worn through, not making the task any easier.

Flinging herself into a large birch tree, the metallic scent of blood was in the air. It was fresh and smelt mostly human, although there was an aromatic hint to it, similar to spice. Crouching down on the branch to get a better look, Ellie was surprised to find that instead of the battalion of armed men she had expected with all the noise, it was in fact one man. Alone. At least he looked like a man, he was moving faster than any human she had seen. As she watched he extended his arm and a stream of sparks and bright orange flames erupted from his fingers. Leaning forward, she tried to get a better look at him. Was he a hybrid. His blood didn't smell contaminated by demon venom, and her skin wasn't tingling in warning. What she did notice was that the irritating ringing that had been in her head when she arrived here had returned. It rattled her head and she struggled to keep her focus on the fight as it progressed.

The man continued his barrage of fire, circling the creature who was screaming in agony. Ellie felt her muscles clench, she wanted to help her friend but her strength was nowhere near full and this enemy was a complete unknown to her. He was carrying a long sword, moving in a low crouch, his movements cat like. She could tell he was a competent fighter even from this distance. He moved from her vision and she gripped the rough bark of the tree with her hands, leaning further over to see. Mr Deer Head was very much on fire now, he flailed his arms around, trying to hit his aggressor as the flames licked across them. The man stopped his mysterious jet of magic fire and leapt into the air, higher than should have been possible, bringing his blade slicing down on her friend's neck. Ellie felt her stomach turned as she watched on helplessly as Mr Deer Head let out a heart wrenching scream of pain and fear.

'Save it.' She heard the man say, before he flourished his sword and finished the job of cutting the creature's head clean off. She clapped a hand over her mouth, holding back a scream. Mr Deer Head's severed skull rocked back and forth on the forest floor, the empty holes of his eyes looking straight up at her. The ringing in her ears lessened again as she saw the soul of her only friend in this world float up from his lifeless corpse like a firefly and fade.

The stranger walked nonchalantly over to his decapitated head and used his sword to cut the impressive antlers off. Hanging the still dripping deer skull from his belt, he said something. Ellie was too stunned to hear him, and she had to unfreeze her limbs to watch as he began walking off into the trees. A tumultuous mix of shock and anger raged within in her. It took all her limited strength to keep her demonic side at bay. She listened to the man's footsteps as they receded into the forest. They were barely audible, even for her. He was light on his feet, a trained hunter. Once he was a safe distance away she silently descended the tree and walked over to the headless body left behind. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she knelt down and touched a hand to the oozing black stump where his head had been.

I'm sorry my friend. May your soul sail safely to Purgatory.

She offered her prayer in silence. A last thank you for all that he had given her. Removing her hand, she sniffed at it tentatively. She could smell the metal of the sword that had killed him. Strangely it had been made of silver not steel. Not a very strong element for making a weapon. There was something mixed in with the scent. A musky smell of dog, fat and a plant of some kind, she didn't recognise it. It definitely had an oily base to it though, the kind you used to clean a weapon with. The man must have covered his sword in a poison that was harmful to whatever Mr Deer Head had been. A low growl rumbled in her chest. She would give him a proper burial, but first she would have to retrieve his head.

Remaining low to the ground, she inhaled deeply, sorting through the myriad of scents until she found the one she was after. Fresh blood and the subtle burn of spice. Being careful to tread lightly on the fallen leaves, she tracked the hunter into the forest. Using her hands to move on all fours through the undergrowth, she tried to think of how she was going to approach this. Stealth and cunning were her best bets. A head on fight with no weapons and weakened reflexes against someone like that was a fool's errand.

'The direct approach is often the riskiest. Try and outsmart your opponent.' She recited her old lessons as she followed his scent. She wasn't entirely sure why she was attempting to retrieve the skull. The lowest risk scenario would be to mourn the loss of her friend and then wait to get her strength back. But there was a niggling feeling in her gut that told her to keep pursuing the strange hunter, and to date ignoring her gut had only ever brought her bad luck.

Ellie slowed as the scent grew stronger. Now she could smell other things mixed in; sweat, dirt and horse were the predominant ones. Along with the lingering smell of Mr Deer Head. Now she could hear him too, he was muttering to himself staring intently at a very familiar tree. Keeping her body low, she manoeuvred herself into a dense patch of undergrowth. From her hidden vantage point, she observed the hunter in detail.

He was dressed in black leather amour, and had two long swords strapped to his back, one of which she presumed was the strange silver sword he had just been using. Ellie frowned, usually people kept swords at their hip. Having them on their backs would prove hard to use, and why did he have two? He was bent over examining something at the base of the tree, his back to her. Without realising it she found herself shuffling forwards trying to get a better look at him.

He straightened up, 'Ashes are cold. About a day old.' He mumbled, half turning to get a better look at the tree. Now he was upright Ellie judged he was around six foot with a lean, athletic frame. The way he had moved during the fight had been graceful and controlled, so his physique came as no surprise to her. Her eyes drifted to what he had been examining and her stomach lurched.

Shit, she could see the remnants of the fire she had made. A blatant signature at the foot of the ancient oak. Was he tracking her? She focused back on the man, her eyes meeting those of Mr Deer Head's empty sockets, hanging from his belt. He had turned his back again and was holding his head up…sniffing the air? He paused, then moved in one fluid movement, pulling one of his swords from its sheath in the process.

The niggling feeling in her gut increased, making her throat tighten. It felt like an invisible thread was tugging her back. Away from the impending danger.

She had felt it before, many times, and knew not to fight it. With a burst of adrenaline, she tensed her legs and leapt nimbly backwards, out of the bushes and onto her feet just as the hunter's sword sliced through the undergrowth where she had just been crouching.

'Gotcha.' The man exclaimed and Ellie clenched her jaw as he lunged towards her, his speed unlike any human's. Again, that thread tugged on her sharply, telling to dance to her right. She avoided his blade again, the edge of it skimming the air by her ear. He must have smelt her. She had been positioned down wind of him, she had checked, but his nose was clearly as sensitive as hers. Who was this guy?

Now she was being attacked her senses sharpened automatically, slowing the world around her down. She was able to see the hunter in all his glory now, head on and glaring at her as he backed off. Assessing her movements.

He had coal black hair, slicked back and an equally dark beard covering a strong chin. His nose was straight and his cheekbones prominent, but his lips were surprisingly full. They were tipped up in a smirk, giving his face a proud, arrogant look. If it wasn't for his unlikeable expression she would have said he had a rugged attractiveness to him, only emphasised by the two long scars running down the right side of his face. Whomever he was he had certainly lived a hard life.

One of his thick eyebrows was raised as he regarded her, then her attention was caught by his eyes and she couldn't help tilting her head in fascinated curiosity. They were a birght amber colour, and they seemed to glow like molten lava. His pupils were two black slits, similar to a cat's eyes and they danced with wry amusement as he mimicked the movement of her head, tilting it ever so slightly to the side.

'Not exactly what I was expecting either darling. But here we are.' His voice was smoother than she had been expecting, and there was a mocking bite to it. He flourished his sword again, he liked to do that it seemed, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he sniffed the air again. 'You definitely don't smell human. You kind of reek of farm animals if I'm honest, and…'. He sniffed the air heavily again. 'Sulphur. What kind of witch are you?' His tone was becoming more patronising and Ellie could feel her hackles rising. Despite his easy banter he hadn't put his guard down at all. Instead he had been slowly stepping to the side trying to flank her, his sword pointed at her across one arm; ready.

She slid her foot around and adjusted her position slightly to keep him in front of her. The hunter's glowing eyes flicked down to the movement then back up to her, his brow creasing in annoyance. Unperturbed by her unwillingness to respond he continued goading her.

'What are you then? You don't look like a sorceress, that scar is a dead giveaway.' He took another step and she matched him, her hand automatically moving to touch the jagged scar over her left eye. What did her scar have to do with anything? Slowly, she was turning so her back was to the oak tree. He was trying to trap her. His lip curled up in bored disdain and Ellie felt her irritation at him grow. 'Listen, I'd love to chat all day but I've got stuff to do. So if you don't mind-'

'I'd like my friend's head back if that's okay.' She said, pointing at Mr Deer Head, her expression stoic.

The hunter seemed taken aback by her sudden ability to speak, and blinked at her. His self-assured persona slipping slightly. Ellie smirked back at him. 'What's the matter? Wasn't expecting a response.' She took a deliberate step forward and to the right, keeping the tree to her side. He quickly moved to counter her proximity, stepping back. Good, get him on the defensive.

'Friend?' He asked, his expression incredulous.

'I don't know why you're after me. But if you give me the head and tell me how to get out of this forest I promise not to hurt you.'

It was a risky bluff. In all honesty he was more likely to hurt her than the other way around. But she watched the flash of surprise on his face as he considered what she'd said. His brow was pulled low in a frown, then his arrogant smirk widened into an even more arrogant grin.

'Nah, sorry. I don't fucking negotiate with monsters. Besides, you don't look all that threatening to me.' He said, then whipped forward with blinding speed, aiming his sword at her torso. She only had a second to react to the sudden shift. Her adrenaline spiking harshly as she just manged to skipped backwards, curving her spine to avoid his blade slicing her from hip to ribcage. She skidded on the dead leaves and other detritus of the forest as she fought to regain her balance.

The hunter was on her before she could assess her next move. Her reflexes were considerably dulled and he was extraordinarily quick. The combination was proving troublesome for Ellie as she danced and sidestepped away. 'Stay still you slippery fucking witch.' The hunter growled as he pirouetted through the air and aimed a deadly strike at her back.

Shit, Ellie thought, stumbling forward as her legs gave out. She was pushing herself too hard too soon, this had been a stupid idea. Digging her fingers into the earth, she clawed for purchase. Bracing her feet, she launched herself away in an attempt to put some distance between them. She could almost hear Solomon's disappointment as he watched his protégé flee through the forest like a spooked animal. To her horror she heard the man take up the chase, his footsteps light but gaining on her quickly. 'No use trying to run.' He shouted, his voice close behind her.

Not the head on approach, try to outsmart. Think your way out of this. Ellie chanted as she felt her limbs reach their limit. She hadn't been running full speed but it would have lost any normal human. Whatever this guy was, he was definitely, definitely not normal. She waited for him to be a hair's breadth behind her before bending down and grabbing a fistful of loose leaves and dirt, and with one violent flick of the wrist, sent it sailing into his face.

Her pursuer let out a loud string of very colourful, inventive curse words, before he skidded to an abrupt halt, his hands rubbing vigorously at his eyes. Without missing a beat, Ellie swung round and remaining close to the ground, aimed a powerful low kick to his shins with the last reserves of her strength. The impact emitted a dull thud, and the hunter was swept off his feet in spectacular fashion. He crashed, face first in the dirt, and Ellie was on him in an instant. Placing her weight on him, she twisted his arms behind his back and held them in place.

'Okay buddy. My turn to talk.' She hissed between clenched teeth. A muffled, 'fuck you' came from somewhere beneath her. She responded by tightening her grip on his wrists. That last mad dash had taken a lot out of her and she was using her weight to keep him down now. Judging by the way his leg hadn't broken from her kick this guy was tough, and he could easily dislodge her if she gave him the chance.

'Why are you trying to kill me? I haven't done anything.'

'I'fe gof a confracf.'

'Huh?' She said, bending down as she struggled to decipher what he had said. With a roar of defiance, the hunter forced his head to the side, spitting out leaves and dirt.

'I said,' he spluttered, 'I've got a contract on you witch.'

'Someone paid you to kill me?' He struggled beneath her. Great, Ellie thought, I can't even escape being hated in a completely different world.

'The village. They wanted you and that friend of yours dead, and I wanted to relieve them of their coin.' He craned his neck, glaring up at her with those surreal eyes. 'I'm a witcher.' He said as if by way of explanation.

She frowned down at him. 'A what?'

His eyes widened in disbelief at her answer then he arched his back, attempting to buck her off. Ellie gripped him with her thighs, keeping him pinned, but for how much longer? She could feel his raw strength fighting against her. He stilled and she loosened her hold slightly. His eyes gleamed with something mischievous and she saw his mouth curl up into a wolfish smile.

'Normally I'd quite enjoy a woman who takes control like this, but I'm afraid the chat is over.' Ellie tensed against him but before she could push him down into the dirt he drew his legs up underneath his pinned body and pushed off. The surprise of his movement threw her back and she had just enough time to plant her feet, stopping herself from falling backwards.

Freed, the witcher as he called himself, collected his sword from the ground and turned to face her. 'A witch that is in cahoots with a leshen and doesn't know what a witcher is. My, my you are a mysterious one. Shame I'm going to have to end this, I need the money and this has taken too fucking long already.'

She knew what was coming but her still recovering body had done all it could. Fighting hadn't worked, fleeing hadn't worked and being clever hadn't worked. There was nothing left but to fight with her last remaining weapon. Lowering into a crouch she carefully undid the restraints holding back her demonic power. The witcher glanced down at something on his chest, a necklace with a wolf's head hanging from it. It was vibrating, twitching back and forth in a strange puppet like dance. His face became serious and he readied his sword.

Peeling back the last of her bindings Ellie drew in a deep breath. Knock him out, don't kill him. She instructed herself before she let out a feral snarl like the one she'd used to ward off Mr Deer Head. The man's face paled slightly but he held his ground. He was brave at least, she'd give him that, but she wasn't going to die again today. 'Never seen a witch like you.' He said, advancing slowly.

Ellie bared her teeth, her canines now elongated and deadly. 'I'm not a witch.' She spat before lunging at the witcher.

The witch, who was not a witch, leapt at him. Her eyes which had been a striking blue were now flat, abysmal black. Where she had been fast before, she was now lightning quick, and it was only with inches to spare that Lambert managed to roll out of the way of her sudden assault. She landed easily on her feet, and spun around ready to go in for another attack.

Getting to his feet the witcher reached into his pouch and produced a dimeritium bomb. Whatever this girl was she was definitely producing some kind of magic according to his medallion. He aimed at the 'not witch' and threw it at a spot she was running towards. The bomb went off with a bright flash, then surrounded the stunned girl in a green aura. There, that should make things easier, he thought as he sprinted towards her and aimed a two-handed slash down on her head.

His sword landed with a thunk in the dirt, his quarry gone. There was a moment of confusion, then he felt something tugging at his sword belt. As he looked down he saw the leshen head falling away, then a blunt object which felt like an iron hammer, walloped him in the gut. He flew back from the force of the blow, his breath escaping from his lungs in a sickening rush as the attack and his subsequent landing winded him. Where had she got a weapon from? He cursed as he shook off the effects and jumped back to his feet in one fluid motion. The space where he had been was now occupied by the 'not witch' her arm still extended from the hip, her hand balled into a tight fist. She had punched him? The kick she had delivered to his leg earlier had been hard. It had knocked him off his feet, but that had been nothing compared to the strength of her hit just now. Who the fuck was this bitch?

Grinding his teeth together, partly in frustration but with a little humiliation thrown in, he narrowed his eyes. Play time was over. He'd never hear the end of it if the guys found out that some freaky girl beat his ass with her bare hands. She watched him with those creepy black eyes, the whites around them appearing starker than normal, as they tracked his movements. Keeping his eyes on her fists now, he went in for another attack. As he got within two feet of her he shot a stream of Igni into her face causing her to stagger back in surprise. Then, using her sudden imbalance to his advantage, Lambert sidestepped her and spun his sword so it was pointing behind him. With a quick, decisive thrust he plunged it backwards and heard the satisfying wet ripping sound of metal tearing flesh.

Using her own dirty trick against her had been the key, he thought smugly as he turned to see the girl staring down at the blade now impaled through her stomach. Dark blood began to spread across her strange tunic, a trickle dripped from her mouth as she looked up at him.

He had been doing this job a long time, and had seen many different emotions on his foes' faces as they realised their impending doom. Fear, anger, sadness. What he had never seen before was the look of annoyed exasperation that the 'not witch' gave him now. Her eyes lightened as he watched, from inky black to the glittering lapis irises he had seen before. The witcher withdrew his sword from her abdomen with a jerk and he heard her give a small sigh as he aimed it at where her heart was. He pushed the blade through, severing her arteries cleanly. She uttered no cry of pain or wail of despair, instead she closed her eyes and muttered a resigned, 'not again,' before falling backwards to the ground, dead.

Lambert glared down at the body for a moment, unsure what to make of what had just happened. He nudged her with the toe of his boot, her limp body heavy and lifeless. She certainly looked dead. But for how long? Now that she wasn't running away or attacking him Lambert got a good look at the strange creature he had been sent to kill.

She was lithe and wiry. Her small frame not at all betraying the extreme strength he had felt from her, especially near the end. Her face was small and round, her cheeks full and a little rosy. Even in death. There was that jagged scar over one eye, it wasn't a wound he had seen before but it looked like a claw had made it, not a blade. She had shoulder length brown hair, pulled back at the sides and tied behind. It reminded him of the way Geralt and Vesemir wore theirs. Trend setters that they were.

She was wearing very odd clothes that he had never seen before. Short trousers that stopped half way up her thigh, made from cotton or something like it, dyed a dark blue. A torn and blooded vest of some kind that had seen far better days although it looked to be a paler shade of blue. Around her waist was a leather belt, and as he pushed her body over he could see there were two sheaths attached the back of it. This was at least slightly familiar, they were small and looked like they were made for daggers of some kind but he couldn't identify the craftmanship. Her feet were covered by very worn, weird cotton boots. They came to her ankle and were black with a white base made of something he didn't recognise.

Her arms and legs were long and slender, her hands equally so. Her skin was so exposed that he wondered how she hadn't frozen to death. Probably some freaky magic, he thought. Frowning Lambert turned one of her hands over in his. No callouses or scars of any kind but she had obviously been trained in combat. He paused as his fingers brushed over a brand burnt into the inner part of her wrist. Apart from the scar on her face this was the only blemish on her pale skin. It was made up of triangles and the way the smaller ones were arranged looked kind of like a Yrden sign. The witcher traced the outline of it with his fingertip, then pulled back sharply as a biting spark of energy shot up his hand.

His medallion tremored nervously for a moment then stilled. 'What the…?'. He murmured. Staring down at the strange glyph. He debated cutting off the girl's head, like the leshen, but something stayed his hand. Instead he decided to bind her and see if the peasants' claim actually came true. No sense in rushing such an interesting job when he hardly got them, he reasoned as he whistled for his mount who was waiting patiently a distance away. His horse trotted through the trees a moment later, shaking its head in greeting.

'Come here.' Lambert said, beckoning his only companion over. His steed obliged willingly, it was what he valued most in a horse. Rummaging in his saddlebags he finally found what he was looking for and set about rolling the corpse over and binding her hands securely behind her back. Then he propped her up against the oak tree he had found her ill-concealed fire under and used what was left of the wood to make his own.

Lambert wasn't sure why he was doing this, but he figured the village could wait for their trophies. Better to make sure the job was done and if the 'not witch' really did have a penchant for coming back from the dead…well, would be a shame to miss it. Tying the discarded leshen head to his horse, Lambert took out some of his provisions and settled down, crossed legged, across the fire from the dead girl. Her head lolled against her breasts, which he now eyed speculatively. They weren't the biggest he had seen, although the strange cotton vest she wore highlighted them quite well. They look about right for the size of his hand at least.

He huffed, biting into a piece of stale bread. He was eyeing up a dead monster. His life really had hit an all-time fucking low. After ten minutes had passed and his chatty companion remained as stoic as ever Lambert began to lose interest. He glanced up at the sun through the trees, about midday he reckoned. He'd wait another hour, get his strength up, then take the two trophies to collect his reward. A twinge in his arm reminded him that he hadn't gotten out of the battle unscathed.

He twisted his shoulder so he could better see the scratch the leshen had managed to land on him. Fuck, the leather amour had been ripped, and there was a significant amount of crusty, dried blood covering his wound. With a groan of annoyance, Lambert unbuckled his amour and shrugged out of it until he was sat in just his black undershirt. With the stiff amour gone he was able to get a better look at what had happened.

He hissed as he pulled back the ruined cloth of his shirt. The claw had gone deep, not to the bone, but deep enough that he was going to need stitches. He debated starting the laborious and loathsome task now but as he was absorbed in his musings the air around him got heavy, and his medallion starting doing a hang man's jig against his chest.

His eyes snapped up to see what was causing it and they were immediately drawn to the corpse sat across from him. There was nothing visible around the girl, but the air seemed to be humming and pulling towards her. Like a whirlpool in a still lake. Lambert remained still as stone as he watched the lifeless body start to move. Her chest, that he had been eyeing up before, rose as if attached to a string that was being pulled from above. Her head remained limp and for a second the witcher thought someone else was performing necromancy on her. Then her head snapped up and with a loud gasp, followed by a racking cough, the 'not witch' opened her eyes and jolted upright as if she had just been saved from drowning.

Well, fuck me sideways. Lambert thought, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. Those peasants had actually been telling the truth.

'Shit. That hurt.' She said, her voice hoarse. Her eyes, which Lambert noted as clear blue, landed on him; narrowing in an instant.

'Why am I tied up?' She asked, and the witcher gave her a languid smile.

'You're my prisoner now. And an interesting one at that.'