Back inside the castle, Ciri maneuvered her way around passed out Skelligans in the main hall on the way to her rooms. A few were still going strong, pounding tankard after tankard of mead with seemingly no intention to quit.

She made it to her quarters without interruptions but that is where her good luck ended. She entered and closed the door behind her, starting when a candle suddenly ignited to reveal a silhouette by the window.

Avallac'h.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ciri tried to still her racing heart and the hand that had automatically reached for her sword. "Are you trying to get yourself hurt?"

"Are you?" He turned to face her and in his eyes she saw a quiet rage. She had only seen that once before and it had been quick them, sudden, and had vanished as soon as it had come.

This was different. This had been building.

"What are you talking about?" She pulled her sword and scabbard over her head and rested it on the nearest table, trying not to meet the elf's gaze because, honestly, it made her feel some kind of way. Like a child who was about to get whipped with her father's belt.

He remained silent until she could avoid him no longer. His angry presence was suffocating. "Where have you been?"

"Couldn't sleep. Went for a walk."

"Try again. Without the lies this time."

Ciri said nothing, staring him down with my most stoic of expressions. As though she was still sticking to her explanation.

He approached and she felt the sudden need to step back, to retreat. But she didn't.

The elf towered over her like a dangerous shadow, peering down into her eyes with such intensity she felt as though she could crumble beneath his stare alone. And then his gaze shifted to the tear in her shirt, to the bloodstains on her arm. His smooth brow furrowed in immediate concern and he grasped for her. "You are hurt. Did he do this to you?"

Ciri blinked and slowly pulled away, watching him with mild confusion until the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. "You read my mind." It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

Avallac'h's jaw tightened and that was confirmation enough.

"You read my mind!" Her anger flared, spiking rapidly, and her hands shot out to push violently against his chest. "You son of a whore! How could you?"

The blow had barely moved the elf at all and he caught her wrists with ease, holding them with the grip of a vice. "It was simple. As soon as you started concealing things from me, I dove inside. You do not get to keep secrets, Zireael. Not from me."

His voice was soft and yet he managed to deliver the words in such a way she felt as though he was screaming.

"Get your hands off me," she whispered angrily, trying to tug free of his grasp but he only increased its strength.

"No. There are things that must be said, things you need to understand."

"You need t–"

"I talk! You listen!" It was the first time he'd raised his voice during the entire conversation and as though he'd utilized magic she instantly fell silent. "You are toying with your life. Being reckless. Careless. Stupid. And what for? A handsome boy you met in the forest?"

Avallac'h sneered, his words mocking and cruel. "Do you think he will save you, Zireael? Is that it? Do you think he is your salvation?"

Tears pricked at her eyes. She silently shook her head.

"Did you ever stop to consider he might be dangerous? That he might be the enemy?" He paused, regarding her as if a revelation had just occurred. He leaned down and put his face very close to hers, his voice dangerously soft again. "Or is Eredin correct? Do you want him to find you, Zireael? Are you hungering for his touch? For the sweet words he will whisper in your ear as he makes you his whore? While you destroy the world?"

Her cheeks burned with anger and humiliation. Humiliation because he had touched on a slight truth and she was ashamed of it. Ashamed of how her body continued to respond to Eredin's taunting, even in her dreams. And angry because it had just become apparent not even her dreams were a place of privacy. Even there they would invade it – friend or foe, it did not matter.

Avallac'h seemed to calm slightly and straightened, releasing her wrists to tug at her torn shirtsleeve. "Take it off. I will heal you."

She shook free of him finally and hurriedly wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm fine."

"Get. Undressed. Now."

Ciri thought something might have broken in him. That she had pushed him too far. Because this was not the Avallac'h she knew. Even back in Tir Na Lia. He had always been authoritative, certainly. But never cruel. And he had never tried to use force against her before.

"No," she said, holding fast. "I need no healing. It has been dealt with."

Something unpleasant flashed in his eyes but he did not push the issue. "You are not to leave this room again without an escort, Zireael. And by that I mean me. Have I made myself understood?"

She bristled at that, straightened up a little to glare at him. "You are not my father. Nor my husband. You have no rights giving me orders!"

"I have every right," he countered, leaning down over her again. "Eredin and I disagree on many a thing, but in this he is correct: You are The Elder Blood. You belong to the Aen Elle."

She trembled with a mixture of fury, fear, and humiliation, the buzzing in her ears increasing the further she worked herself up. "Get out." She told the elf between clenched teeth. "Get out of my sight."

"With pleasure." He swept from the room like a bird of prey and shut the door behind him. She heard the turning of a lock.

Even though the horizon was beginning to turn pink, the Archer opted for going back to Undvik.

He wasn't fully honest with the girl. He knew about the prophecy.

Having spent the majority of his life among the non-humans, he had heard about it a number of times from different people, including his mother.

It was her voice reciting the lines in his head as he set his feet on the white-stone platform of the tower's top hall for the second time that night.

('I tell you that the time of the sword and axe approaches, the time of the Wolf's Blizzard. The Time of the White Frost and White Light, the Time of Madness and Disdain, Tedd Deireadh, the Final Age. The world will perish amidst ice and be reborn with the new sun. Reborn of the Elder Blood, of Hen Ichaer, of a planted seed. A seed that will not sprout but burst into flames!')

He gestured 'fly', and Griffin flapped his wings taking off with a croak. He did a quick circle above the man, then dove down toward the land beneath. Probably for a hunt, if there was any worthy prey.

The Archer turned his eyes up to the top landing crowned with a doorway, and began to slowly climb the stairs. His footfalls, as quiet as they were, sent a shuffling, rustling sound around the columns, making it as if someone was following him.

He thought about the girl with ashen hair resembling his own. There was a lot about her that stirred him as eerily familiar, but he was hesitant to dig deeper into that idea, as if there was something better left untouched.

Like a sleeping viper, tightly coiled.

He stopped a dozen feet short from the empty arch and studied the symbols. They didn't immediately inspire any meaning, but his mind kept spinning around the girl and the prophecy.

She looked like the one who could have the Elder Blood. That would explain her fear. No one knew exactly how to stop the foretold Frost, nor whether survival was an option.

He wondered who could have been preparing her for such task. Ermion didn't seem the type, nor that older witcher whom he saw in the woods with her. Witchers didn't care much about prophecies, nor fulfilling them. There had to be someone else. Or someones.

Like the Lodge of witches he had heard about. Those were ruthless enough to step over any bodies on their way to their goals. If they had their hooks in the girl, she was a dead girl walking, regardless of what they wanted from her.

Not so unfounded now, her fears, are they?

He stepped closer, sweeping his gaze over the arch and its engravings. He felt her fingertips buzz as if willing to touch the stone, to feel it, to probe...

He balled his hands into fists, just looking.

The sun was rising behind him; shadows were shifting on the columns as if an invisible hand pulling down a dark veil revealing the white of the stones. The columns sparkled in the brightening sunlight like diamond dust, so did the arch itself. In the sun, it looked like it was made of hardened snow.

And he felt the cold emanating from it. A faint puff of smoke formed at his exhale. Something deep within him trembled, like a silent scream of self-preservation instinct that had never let him down.

He backed away slowly from the doorway, then jogged down the few stairs and toward the opening in the wall. He saw Griffin flying over the mountain.

He called, and the beast came for him.

They didn't linger, leaving Undvik for the druid forest, picking their route carefully as they flew along the empty and rocky shores to stay unseen by any early-bird sailors readying their nets for a fishing trip.

The royal celebrations were over.

They slept in, but even when they came downstairs to the sunlight spilling through the tall windows, they were still alone in the keep.

Geralt anticipated his brethren to arrive after twilight or early next morning.

Uncertain of what to do next, he searched Yennefer's face. "I wouldn't want to leave you here alone."

"No?"

She had been awake for a while, enjoying the warmth beneath the blankets provided by his body and the simple act of sleeping beside him as she'd hoped would have been their future going forward.

It wasn't long before they eased out from beneath the covers, redressed in warmer clothing and headed downstairs.

"Why not? Don't think I'd survive a few days alone in the musty coldness? I know you don't know me as well as you used to, but I assure you, I'm capable of tending to myself."

Geralt smiled. "I trust you're perfectly capable of that. But I wish I could stay for company."

"Then stay," she said and reached for his hand, touching her fingers to the inside of his palm. "At least until your brothers show up."

Geralt sighed. "Had it not be Ciri, I would. I'd stay longer. But Ciri has no time."

"That she doesn't," Yennefer added sadly and with a nod of concern, withdrawing her hand. "Don't worry about me, I've already sent for Triss."

"All right," he nodded. "If you're sure. There are no horses here, though, so… I'll need your help getting to Novigrad."

"As if I'd have sent you back there on horse. Time is of the essence." She started back upstairs, gesturing for him to follow. "Are you going to meet up with Zoltan before your meet with Dijkstra?"

"Yes. I'd rather arrive to their Cabaret first."

Yennefer walked over to the vanity, slipped the other elixir she'd made the day before into his pocket, somewhere he could carry it in case he needed it and then produced the portal he needed.

"Don't do anything too risky without me."

Geralt gave her an impish look. "You doubt my ability to protect myself, sorceress?"

"When it comes to Ciri?" she asked, a small smile on her face, one that stretched knowingly. "We both know you'd jump into a fire for her." And that she would jump right after him or even ahead. "That at times we can both be a bit reckless." But it didn't matter as long as they were able to protect her.

"Even so…" He stroked a finger across her cheek, smiling subtly. "I think we'll do fine. We have to."

"For her sake. For ours." Not that it was a thought on his mind, anymore. She leaned into the touch slightly, smiling softly, gesturing to the portal he appeared to be stalling.

Geralt gave her a parting look and stepped in after a moment's hesitation.

He hated how many portals he had used in the past few days. He longed for traditional way of travel more than he could put to words.

"I'm so happy you're safe." Triss tightened her arms around his neck, her hair tickling his face. She lingered in the embrace, and Geralt let her, lowering his face in the crook of her shoulder and returning the hug.
"What could have happened?" he murmured. "I wasn't alone."

"So I've heard," she said, pulling away. She was smiling, but her eyes were not. "I received Yennefer's message, but decided to wait for you. I thought you'd need help with Dijkstra. I'm willing to do anything for Ciri and you. I will go to Kaer Morhen when it's done."

He looked over to where Zoltan stood at the counter with Dandelion. He gave an imperceptible shrug and averted his eyes as if he never listened in.

"All right," he said, looking back to Triss. "Thank you."

She smiled. "Anything I can do, Geralt."

"My first stop won't be him, though."

"It doesn't matter. I might be useful somewhere else. I received Keira's message – she's on her way to Kaer Morhen, as well. Is Yennefer there?"

"She is."

"Good," Triss said, content. "She'll have company while we're busy here. Keira must be there already, or, perhaps, in another hour. She's known to be a bit of a slowpoke at times."

"It's not safe for you to stay in these woods," Ermion said instead of a greeting when the Archer came for supper shortly before sunset.

"Why? What happened? Some drunk fisherman saw us again? I was being careful—"

"It's much worse, my boy," the druid shook his head in lament. "Much worse. The girl you keep seeing - she has a mentor, an elven mentor. He's an elven sage, and he asked about you. Nothing good will come out of him finding you."

The girl couldn't keep the secret. The Archer sighed; of course not if your mentor is an elven sage. It was probably the one pressuring her into the White Frost deal, he reflected.

"Very well, I'll see where I can sneak away to."

"Be careful, my boy. Your mother hasn't been hiding you from his kind without reason. I told you to stay away from the girl."

"It was an accident, the town is too small."

"Is the whole Ard Skellig too small for the two of you? I'm talking about Undvik, boy. I know it's not what you planned, but destiny has its ways. Dangerous ways."

The Archer kept his mouth shut and obediently refrained from commenting on destiny. It was a touchy subject with dryads and druids alike.

"I'll depart shortly."

"Stay safe, boy. Stay hidden, for they are leaving soon."

"All right."

Geralt didn't want to tell Triss when he went to Dijkstra, but when he got to his bath house, she appeared from out of nowhere and was all smiles and cheer. Her presence helped absolutely nothing: Dijkstra didn't want to hear anything about any Wild Hunt riders or fighting someone else's wars.

Roche, who he arrived to later that day, was all for helping his friend out. Ves was even eager to start. The time was getting toward the night, but they decided to set out immediately. It was a long way to Kaer Morhen, and they had some business of their own to take care of on their way.

The Witcher left their camp with them, but rode in the different direction – back to Novigrad.

Dandelion and Priscilla were busy with their new theater piece coming out next week, which left them some time alone with Zoltan and Triss to talk about plans and strategies.

Triss felt they still needed to contact the sorceresses of the Lodge, however she couldn't reach them yet and lamented the lack of time. Zoltan didn't care about any additional magic and claimed that three magicians and a druid were more than enough for a very much mortal bunch of elvish cocksuckers that wanted to snatch our lass away.

Triss shook her head and retired for the night, as reluctant as it felt when she cast a parting glance at him ascending the stairs.

Zoltan and Geralt sat some more, sharing drinks and exchanging meagre news to merely pass some time in relative peace. It felt like the battle was already breathing down their necks.

It felt cold.

The following day was dreadfully dull and Ciri spent most of it in solitude. A serving girl would deliver her meals every now and then, but other than that she saw no one.

Avallac'h did not show himself until sunset when he attempted to coax her into a training session. One she immediately declined with a very rude hand gesture.

He left after that, looking tired. He'd probably not had much sleep the previous night either.

She resented him for locking the door behind him when he went, and as always when people tried to tell her what to do, rebellion bloomed within her at that moment. As well as a new purpose for the night.

Ciri spent a few minutes staring out the window at the village below, then leaned out as far as the glass barrier would allow, peering down at the cliffs beneath her room. It would not be impossible for her to climb down. She'd had a lot of practice climbing the walls of the keep at Kaer Morhen as a child and this was not nearly as complicated as that had been.

She dressed and armed herself, wrapping one hand in a cloth before she broke through the frail glass. She stilled for a few seconds, listening for footsteps outside her door. But the sound of the break had not been terribly loud and it was soon made clear no one had noticed. So she continued, pushing out the broken glass until she was able to slip through the window without cutting herself.

She carefully moved along the ledge until she found the best spot to start her descent, placing her feet and fingers into the grooves of the castle wall, slowly but surely making her way down to the rocky surface below.

Once there, Ciri put her back to the wall and headed for the stone steps beneath the bridge, climbed onto them, and broke into a jog. She pulled her hood up to conceal her hair which always stood out like a light in the darkness, and headed for the docks.

The eastern end of the island was vastly a dead land with broken and burnt trees. Animals and people had left or perished, and it suited him just fine to sneak through that area. It lay in the direction he had picked for destination. He was Hindarsfjall-bound.

The cataclysm site, as the druids called it, still buzzed with energy and memories of what happened here. Just like in the tower the night before, the Archer was tempted to peek, to probe the earth for her secrets, but something was stopping him. An instinct deep inside vibrated in alarm.

Even then, however - had he had more time – he might have caved. But he was on the run again.

They jogged through the deadlands until they reached the ocean and settled on the shore to wait the short time until the twilight thickened. There wasn't much to hunt around except for a few drowners that knew no fear the sirens had learned. Dinner had to wait until they got to another shore.

"Why are ye headin' there alone at night, lassie?" the captain of The Sea Hag asked as Ciri dropped a heavy pouch of coins in his palm.

"I have friends there." Well, one. Singular. Maybe. She hadn't seen what had happened to Skjall as they were escaping The Wild Hunt. If he had even survived…

But she needed to find out. And if he was alive, she had a pouch of coins for him, as well. He deserved it for the help he and his family had given her.

The ship set sail soon after she'd boarded and as soon as they were out of the bay and out at sea, she relaxed, leaning against the railing and watching the water splash against the hull as they went. It was not too long a journey. Less than an hour because the wind had inexplicably picked up. The captain was praising the Gods by the time they docked. He and his crew began unloading crates and barrels and Ciri went to land, thanking them before she went.

She was not entirely certain of the direction of Skjall's village, but the island was small and the people few. It was likely the inhabitants of this village – Larvik – would know of the village that had been attacked by The Wild Hunt. Word spread quickly.

She wandered through the small town until she came to an establishment claiming to be a tavern. It looked too small for that, but who was she to argue. She stepped inside, hoping the owner of the tavern would ply her with some information.

Geralt vanished through the portal and Kaer Morhen was plunged into a new definition of isolation. She'd spent time at the place, but never alone. The witchers guarded it with their lives as it held their last remaining secrets and means of survival and for the most part, there was always someone to maintain that and yet it didn't escape her that they'd abandoned all of it for the sake of Ciri.

To protect her.

It made all of them that much more valuable.

If anything were to happen to Yennefer or even Geralt during this battle, she could rest assured knowing that there were other people out there, people who only had her best interests and well fair at heart.

As they always had.

She watched the space he'd been in for some time and then headed for the laboratory while she waited on the rest to arrive. The Witchers would need elixirs come the battle.

She'd managed to mix together thirteen bottles by the time she decided to take a break, heading upstairs and for the kitchen to see if she could scourge up something to eat.

"Took you long enough to join me," a familiar voice said, her hand on wrapped around a mug of mead, the bottle of wine Geralt and Yennefer had opened the night before beside her.

"I didn't know you were here."

"You're losing your touch," she retorted. "Distracted?"

"Focused," Yennefer emphasized, walking over to the table, grabbing the wine to pour herself a hefty about into the spare mug that had been left there overnight. She was going to need it.

"How'd you—"

"Triss got your message."

Yennefer arched a brow, sitting back, straining her magic and its reach to feel for her.

"She isn't here."

"Apparently Triss and Geralt had unfinished business."

Yennefer's features hardened and she brought the wine to her lips, drinking deeply. Keira smirked, triumphant and entertained by the fact that she'd hit a nerve. "I say something wrong?"

She knew she had.

"Nothing that isn't old news."

"Can't be that old if it still makes your face scrunch up as if you've been sucking on something sour."

Not that it was any of her business.

Yennefer took another sip, set the mug aside and rose to her feet, helping herself—and Keira—to a piece of cured meat from the bag that she had seen Geralt get it from the night before. Yennefer dropped it in front of Keira without a plate, going in search of one for herself, along with a sharp knife to take her time carving it up.

"How about we steer clear of the gossip and focus on the actual issue."

Keira's expression hardly wavered. "That issue isn't here as of yet and I've time to kill."

"Do you?" Yennefer asked, violet eyes blazing as she moved to sit down opposite the blonde sorceress. Yennefer did it with calm, and she knew that she was being dramatic, but at the same time, she couldn't bring herself to care.

"On the off stage of your ongoing affair?"

"No," Yen retorted. She had no idea what they were but definitely not off.

At least she wasn't going to let it go that way.

"Then why didn't you go with him to Novigrad."

"I'm setting up things here."

Keira sipped at her wine, took a look around, and then shrugged. "Is that so?"

"I'm playing host. Who'd receive you if I wasn't here?"

Keira shrugged again. "The Witchers?"

"They're not here yet."

Yennefer cut the meat into pieces, slowly got to her feet, picking up the wine to gesture for Keira to follow, hopeful she'd get the message that Yennefer was done talking about Geralt and herself.

"Let's find you somewhere to set up for the night and then discuss some plans."

As soon as the first stars began to twinkle on the darkening canopy, the griffin took off, keeping to the north. They circled the island around its northern side, swept past the mountain ridge, and landed in the forest at its slope.

He left Griffin to hunt in the forest while he set his feet south toward the village. There were still lights visible from the air as they approached, there he would have his dinner and directions.

Used to running and being fast at it, he arrived to the village gates barely half an hour later. The village was called Larvik, and people he met on his walk through seemed content and smiled often. They didn't seem to be the type to go to beds early.

The Archer found the tavern in the middle of the village across from an open horse shed. It was rather small inside and stuffed with smells he wasn't used to, living in the wild. It took him a moment to force himself to not bolt out. Trying to breathe in shallow intakes, he went for the counter, pulling his hood off.

Humans didn't like hoods or anything concealing the face from them. Spooked or suspicious people were no fun to deal with.

"Aye," the man behind the counter said, scratching his beard. "I know the village ye speak of. Lofoten, it's called. North-west of here. An hour on horseback, more on foot."

He squinted at Ciri through beady eyes. "You're not plannin' on goin' there now, are ye? Alone? It's dark.

"Only time I will be able to, I'm afraid," she said with a small smile, fishing a few coins from her pocket to hand it to him. "Do you think anyone in this village would be willing to lend me a h–"

She'd cast a quick glance at the person who had just entered and stepped up beside her, and her eyes widened when he lowered his hood.

Archer. "What are you doing here?" she blurted out, taken aback.

His heart skipped a beat, stalling his step for a second as he approached the counter and the familiar girl at it.

"I can ask you the same thing."

The innkeeper glanced between them and scoffed. "Ye siblings?"

Ciri wasn't sure whether or not telling the innkeeper they were siblings would draw more or less attention should someone come asking. She supposed it would not really matter.

"We are," the Archer said to the innkeeper, but his eyes never left the girl.

She was studying him in return. He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him. Either he was here simply by coincidence, or he was one hell of an actor. "I have business here," she told him simply.

It was beginning to get eerie. What could she possibly want here?

Whatever it was, any sort of conversation was going to be everyone's business.

The Archer turned to the innkeeper who was wiping the mugs and smiling like someone waiting for some interesting show to continue.

"Fried meat and water, make it two, and thank you," he dropped a few coins on the counter.

The innkeeper swept them off, counted, and nodded. "Have to wait a tad for meat. Yer water comin."

The Archer led the way to the only table at the wall occupied by one man, too drunk to sit straight. Ciri followed, a tad reluctant only because she doubted she'd ever manage to get to Lofoten now.

He caught the man's chin in his hand and made him look up from under dropping eyelids.

"You can't sit here anymore and need to go home right now," the Archer said, pushing the thought into his head.

He nodded feebly, had a hard time getting up, then stumbled for the exit.

The Archer pushed his mug for the edge of the table and sat down, inviting the girl to do the same.

"What business can be after dark on another island?"

She sat down opposite him on the table he'd chosen, eyeing the drunk he'd sent on his way with mild fascination until he was out the door and they were the only two left. "I could ask you the same," she said, mirroring his earlier response.

The Archer sighed, a tad annoyed, and gave her a reprimanding look. "I had to leave your island because your elf mentor came to druids to ask about you and me."

Ciri stared. That was not the answer she'd expected. "I'm sorry. I did not tell him about you, but… he knew."

He squinted at her. "Yes, elven sages are perceptive beyond human limits. I know.

"Not just perceptive," she grumbled. "They enter your mind and steal your secrets."

"Not that it matters as much as your being somewhere else and once again at night." Annoyance dimmed as soon as he remembered about the White Frost and her fears. "You're running from him now?"

She leaned back in her seat, silent when the innkeeper approached their table with water. When he'd gone, she met Archer's gaze again. "Sort of."

It felt more complicated than that. She was not outright fleeing. Not because she feared for her life. "Sometimes I think it would suit him best if he could keep me in a hidden cage and only take me out when he needed me. Like a puppet. It is not in my nature to blindly follow orders to please others."

"It's not in anyone's nature," he said after a swallow of water. "Not even dogs."

He studied her, thinking over the image of that mentor she painted.

"Why do you depend on him if what he wants is against your nature?"

His intense gaze across the table made her feel oddly self-conscious. She turned her head slightly to better conceal her scar, grabbing the cup of water to run her fingers along its handle, but she didn't drink. "It's complicated. We have common enemies. Enemies I am doubtful I will be able to defeat without him."

"You have other friends beside him, don't you? Even witchers. What enemies could be worse than witchers and druids?"

Her lips twitched in a sad smile. It was tempting to tell him everything. But that would be careless. Risky. And selfish. It was selfish of her to even sit here with him now. The more time he spent with her, the bigger the chance he'd be swept up into the havoc.

"Tell me something about yourself," she said because once more she felt out of balance. He knew more about her than she did about him.

A mix of faint defeat and understanding swept through his features. He would feel the same way. He did. He couldn't understand himself fully, either. He never wanted to know anything about anyone that didn't concern him.

But this time…

He spread his arms briefly in a mute touche gesture, sighing, "Like what?"

"Why were you with the dryads?" she asked after a few seconds contemplation. "Did you drink the water?"

He shot a confused glance at the mug of water on the table, and then he realized what she meant.

It was once again a bit eerie how their lives seemed to cross here and there without their knowledge or will.

"I was granted a refuge there," he responded. "I lived there for some years. Fought with them and protected their land. Willingly."

"Because someone pursues you?" she did not expect him to tell her who. But it was quite clear that a person who needed refuge was in danger of some kind. More often than not from other people. "When I was ten I got lost in those woods. They made me drink." It seemed so long ago now. The memory itself was mostly a happy one. Because of Geralt. "It didn't work."

Surprise jolted through his gaze. He had never heard of a girl the Brokilon Water didn't work on. But if she truly had Elder Blood, it might be why.

"I've committed a crime and needed a place to stay where humans wouldn't find me. There is no better place for it than Brokilon."

Ciri tilted her head, curious. "What did you do?"

"Killed a man."

Ciri watched him a long moment, searching his face for signs of emotions. He was hard to read. "Did he deserve it?"

He swallowed, leaning back in the chair, pondering; it squealed softly.

He shrugged. "Hardly. But I had to make a choice between two bad ones. I chose."

She nodded, intrigued but doubtful he'd want to go into the details. Probably not a memory he cherished. "I understand. How did you meet your griffin?"

"That is how. It was what I chose."

That made his story even more intriguing. But it did not surprise her that he would choose to protect the griffin over a human man. If that is what had happened. To most elves – a half-elf – humans were scum. And often favored animals and beasts of nature. "I see."

A ghost of a sad simper swept over his mouth he hid behind the mug, taking another gulp. "You don't."

He sat the mug down and looked at the innkeeper who put their plates between them.

"Here ya go," he nodded and left them once again to pick up empty bottles from another table on his way to the counter.

"What do you need to do here at this hour?" the Archer asked. "In case you're not afraid to share that big secret with a murderer."

Ciri shrugged. "We're all murderers here."

She had not even realized she was hungry until the roast meat had been placed in front of her. Geralt and Yennefer would scold her for not using a knife and fork, but since the innkeeper had brought none she assumed it was not a usual custom here. "I'm looking for someone. A man who helped me last time I was here. I'd like to know if he is alright."

He took a bite of meat. It was well done, but still too hot.

"It's not a night-time mission. People around here sleep and rise with the sun and hide away from the dark. You have better chances after sunrise."

"After sunrise, it'd be harder to sneak away," she reasoned, picking up the meat from her plate and tearing off a chunk with her teeth.

"Not if one is skilled at it." He swallowed another bite and picked up his mug. "People don't always pay as much attention as you think. They care most about their own problems."

"I am their problem," she retorted. "It is hard to sneak away when one is constantly under supervision."

She chewed and swallowed, considering him another moment. "Did he come to see you? 'My' elf? Or only Ermion?"

"Ermion. He told me to play it safe and pick another place. From the feel of it, he doesn't trust your elf friend. Or mentor, as he called him."

"Yes, that is a common theme these days," she said, laughing softly to herself.

She didn't think Avallac'h would seek the Archer. Or hurt him. At least she hadn't until last night. That anger in his eyes… "What is your name?"

He regarded her with interest, chewing, then swallowed and asked: "Why?"

"Why not?" she countered lightly, taking another piece of her meal.

He shrugged nonchalantly, taking another bite. "Life of a wanted criminal."

"Names don't much matter. I used to go by another name when I was wanted. I was still found."

She took a sip of water, putting her cup down. "Of course, I was not as cautious as you are now."

The Archer didn't care about people. But if that girl with powers of a seer and Elder Blood knew his name, her fixation and dreams might intensify.

He wasn't sure it was a good thing. But then again, she kept finding him without it.

"It's Kain."

"Kain," she repeated, tasting it on her tongue. She smiled. "I've been calling you Archer in my mind. I'm Ciri."

"Archer doesn't define me, but I get it."

He pushed the empty plate away and finished his water in one gulp, set the mug aside and regarded Ciri.

"You can find that village, but hardly the man you're looking for until it's morning. It's wiser to come at dawn and see from the distance where he is."

"If I go back to Kaer Trolde now, the chances of me managing to get away again diminishes greatly." She took her time with the last of her meal before following his example and pushing the plate away.

"I wouldn't be going back to someone who likes to dig around in my mind and lock me up until I'm needed, and damn the consequences and enemies and everything else." He shrugged. "But that's me. Unless he can open the portal to anywhere you are and snatch you by the scruff like a kitten, you don't have to behave like a slave. You have a choice." He paused, then added with a small wince: "And sometimes all choices are bad ones, but you have to choose anyhow."

"He cannot. He does not have that power." And thank the Gods she didn't believe in for that.

But she did need him to open the portal to The White Frost, so she could end it once and for all. If not for him, then for everyone else.

Still, it wasn't as though his anger would make his need for her any less. He could be as angry as he wanted; it still didn't change anything. "You are right. Why should I show him the respect he demands when he insists on treating me like an invalid child? And a prisoner at that!"

Kain leaned in over the table a little, locking her eyes to hers. "It doesn't matter what kind of enemies or trouble there is you think you can't take without someone when you give all of what you are away for their help. If you give yourself away, there is nothing left, and you won't be able to do anything for anyone ever. Because you can't pour water into anyone's cup when your own is empty."

He stood up and headed for the exit. She would have to choose by herself.

Ciri knew he was right. Deep down, she knew. No matter the guilt that welled up inside her.

It was different hearing it from someone who had no motivation – whether good or bad – to impact her choices. More honest. True.

She stood and headed after him through the exit.

Kain cast a gander at the horses as he passed by on his way toward the northern gate – up the road. Horses were a liability, especially at night. He pulled the hood on and accelerated his pace. The night wouldn't go on forever, he had to make himself familiar with the area before it ended.

Unlike Kain, Ciri stopped by the horses locked in a makeshift stable, reaching for one of them to pat his muzzle. They were beautiful. But they were not Kelpie.

She pushed away and looked to the sky, eyeing the stars to gauge which direction the village of Lofoten would be in. North-West, the innkeeper had said.

After a moment's contemplation, she went for the gate as well, passing through it and onto the road that would take me where she needed to go.

Kain followed the path for a while, keeping an eye on the sky. There was a good portion of dark hours left, should be enough to find a cave or any place to hide during the day. The griffin was probably still hunting or dining, he figured, but he wanted to pick up his satchel. After a bit of walking, he turned off the road into the woods.

Kain was a good distance ahead of her when Ciri saw him turn towards the forest, probably to meet up with his griffin.

She didn't follow. She stuck to the road that would take her to Lofoten.

It was dangerous, certainly, but also incredibly freeing. Just like when they'd been flying the night before. She felt more like herself than she had in a while out here in the dark with the animals howling in the distance.

She kept her hood on, blending in as well as she was able, alert and aware of her surroundings at all times. She missed Kelpie more than ever. Her trusty companion. Her beautiful mare who could run like a demon.

Absentmindedly, Ciri rubbed her bracelet.

Kain jogged between the trees, tuning his senses and listening. He remembered where he had left the satchel, but also wanted to determine where the griffin was. Griffin wasn't far, and he was ripping into a freshly killed deer. Kain didn't distract him and found the needed tree, then waved a hand lightly, sweeping the satchel's strap off the branch high up. It fell down into his arms. He hung it onto his shoulder, adjusted the sword, and jogged further, picking his way instinctively.

Soon enough he sensed the girl – she was still following the road. He stayed hidden in the woods, considering their agendas.

There was a distinctive pull that he felt, and it didn't lie the way she was going. There were dangerous things she could encounter even on the road, but she didn't ask for his help. He had no place to push it.

He followed the direction through the woods for a while, keeping an eye on her. There was a pack of wolves – they saw him from the distance. He stood still looking back at them. They went their way, and so did he.

The road the girl was following was in a fork. He considered once again, then turned north-east. He wanted to see what was luring him from that forest.

The moon shifted positions on the sky while Ciri walked but she could not tell how much time had passed since she started. It was cold. Her breath fogged in front of her face. But she was comfortable enough, her clothes warm this time.

She heard something screech and briefly paused to examine the heavens, half-expecting to see Kain and his Griffin circling her up above. But there was nothing.

It wasn't until she recognized she'd stepped into marsh-land that she recognized the sound.

Drowners.

Three of them clumsily moving along the swampy ground, their long arms flailing and flapping as they ate from a carcass of something that had rotted long ago.

She put her hand on her sword, backing off the road and out into the treeline opposite them, moving on stealthy feet, intending to sneak by if possible.

It wasn't possible. One of them saw her, or smelled her. He cocked his head in her direction and waddled toward her with an eager gurgle.

She drew her sword and held it in position.

One. Just one for now.

She'd killed plenty before, even without her powers. But she did not like them in groups, did not like being surrounded.

It jumped at her, its round belly jiggling like jelly as his arms swatted for her chest. She twirled her sword and met his advances, severing a flailing arm and igniting a shriek of agony from the creature.

His kin noticed.

She moved quickly, slashing at the drowner while he was sufficiently preoccupied, intent to finish him before his friends reached them.

Swallow cut trough him like a razor through soft butter, splitting his torso in half, entrails and guts spilling from both ends.

The other two were on her instantly. One set of claws raked over her back, much like the sirens had done the night before. She bit her teeth together and bore the pain. It wasn't too bad. Her cloak had taken most of the brunt.

It's nothing.

Yes.

Don't let them corner you.

I won't, Geralt.

She delivered a sharp kick to one drowner's stomach, pushing him back, enough for her to retreat and put some more space between them.

Now they were both in front of her and both charged.

She swung her sword. She twirled. She ducked. She danced.

She came out victorious, though not entirely unscathed. Other than their claws and teeth, the drowners had a mean punch.

Ciri licked across her lower lip and tasted blood. It had split. It didn't matter. She still won.

She wiped drowner blood off her face with her sleeve as she found her way back to the road, cleaning her sword on the patches of grass before slowly putting it away.

Not too far now. It couldn't be. She saw smoke over the treetops in the far distance. Chimney smoke. Lofoten.

It resembled a cave, but wasn't quite it. As Kain approached, it seemed like something grew into the mountain's slope and the trees and their roots framed the arch with a huge double door. The green ivy-like tresses hung like shredded curtains around the entrance.

He listened, his eyes closing. No one was inside. Not that he sensed.

He pushed the doors, gradually applying pressure, until one half budged. He slipped inside and let it close behind him.

It was a temple, a very old one and thus minimalistic in its design. In the semi-circle there were niches with braziers – still burning – separated by columns. In the center of the hall there was a big stony basin; a female figure sat in it, buried in the basin up to her hips, flowers bloomed around her. Her arms were slightly spread in a gentle inviting embrace.

He knew close to nothing about Skelligan Gods, but he felt it was a divine motherly figure. He recalled hearing some villagers pray to the Great Mother.

Freyja…

The flames flickered simultaneously in the braziers; shadows danced in the stony niches. He was no longer sure if he thought of the name or heard it in a gust of wind.

It didn't really matter. She delivered it one way or another.

Kain studied the statue, walking slowly around her. She emanated warmth and care, just what the people of these stark and cold islands needed. He felt his fingers prickle with temptation to touch the statue, but he didn't have to do it to sense her spirit's presence. This temple had been taken care of by people or priests, but the Goddess returned the affection.

He slowly backed away toward the doors, then left the temple as quietly as he came. He would be coming back, but not tonight.

He stuck to the road this time as he ran in the direction of the village in the west.

Ciri reached the village before long, somewhat more uncomfortable and out of breath than she had been when she started. The place seemed almost abandoned. There were no lights in the windows and smoke only came from one chimney. Their rest of the houses looked cold and solitary.

She found Skjall's home with ease. She didn't remember being brought in there but had a clear memory of leaving to get to the sauna. With Skjall's sister, Astrid.

She placed a hand on the front door and gently pushed. It swung open with ease, no bolt or lock in place. The inside was dark.

"Hello?" Ciri called softly into the darkness. There was no answer. No signs of movement or life at all.

She stepped across the threshold, cautious, and searched the house. No one was here.

The remains in the fireplace were cold. Untouched.

There was two loafs of bread on the kitchen table. They were mouldy. As untouched as the fireplace.

No one had been here for a long time…

Had they all fled when The Wild Hunt left? Relocated?

Or…

Ciri sucked in a sharp breath of air, fear and guilt cutting at her heart like a knife.

She was tempted to sink into one of the chairs but didn't allow herself.

The house with the lit fireplace. There had to be people there. She needed to talk to them.

Kain stumbled upon a few dead drowners, and it stalled him while he gave the scene a look. They were freshly killed and stunk horribly. The cuts were even, made with a good sword.

She just can't stay away from trouble for long, can she.

He got to the village and caught his breath while surveying it from a hill. Most houses were dark and looked cold, unattended, except for one where the chimney smoked. It looked like there was a battle here not too long ago, and although most the rubble was cleaned out, there were many obvious signs and broken sheds and pig feeders and the pens were pointing in that direction.

After a while, he saw Ciri walk out of one of the houses. She looked lost and confused. And sad.

He hesitated, then started down the slope path toward her.

The next door was locked. Ciri pushed against it but it didn't yield.

She took a step back and slammed her fist against the wood in several sharp knocks, barely waiting before repeating the process.

It took an eternity before she heard a dead bolt slide away from inside and finally the door opened. An old woman appeared in the crack, peering out with a look of mingled fear and confusion. She eased up a little seeing it was another female on her doorstep.

"Skjall and Astrid," Ciri said, forgoing the pleasantries and gesturing for their house. "Where are they?"

The old woman blinked up at her. "Why, they're dead, child. Like everyone else. Those black riders… Cut everyone down. Except for me and a few of the priestesses. We were in The Garden when it happened."

Ciri swallowed thickly and stumbled away from her, feeling bile rise at the back of her throat.

Kain waited while she talked to someone through the ajar door. The wind was blowing in his direction and carried the news. Ciri staggered back from the door.

He approached her, stopping a few feet short, watching her. She seemed like she could faint.

The whole world was spinning and even though Ciri moved she couldn't feel her legs. They'd gone numb.

She turned and suddenly found herself face to face with Kain. She should have been surprised but she wasn't. She was relieved.

She stepped into him, arms at her sides, and let her forehead fall to his shoulder; eyes closed, breathing uneven. "I got them all killed."

He hesitated a moment, then his arm automatically came around her to support. He felt it as soon as his palm rested on her back. There was a torn fabric and blood beneath it. She was shivering.

Both reluctant and confused, he still couldn't fight the pull of it all. He was still here, and she was next to him. Kain didn't have to come here, but he did, nonetheless.

He held her for a long moment, then coaxed toward the house she had stepped out before.

He started to move and as if her legs had decided to follow him on their own accord, Ciri moved, too, letting him guide her towards Skjall's emtpy house. She had no reservations going back there. What would it change? He would still be dead.

She sank into a chair at the table and pushed her hair out of her eyes, pulling out the pins that kept it in place. It felt too tight against her scalp. "You followed," she said, regarding him in the darkness. "Why?"

Kain slid the satchel off his shoulder to the floor, then shrugged off his cloak, dropped it over a chair's back before approaching her. He crouched in front of her, skimming her figure with a sharp eye, searching for wounds.

"I don't know," he admitted eventually. "I felt like it.

"Where did they get you? The drowners."

It took her a moment to even remember the drowners.

She blinked as if coming awake and straightened in her chair, the pain returning with her heightened consciousness. "Back. I'm sure it's nothing. It doesn't hurt too bad."

She undid the bindings of her cloak anyway, assuming he wanted to check the wounds weren't too deep.

Kain shifted behind her to see if it really wasn't too bad.

There were a few, one of which deeper than the other ones. It didn't seem too bad, but given it was the necrophages' gift, it might get infected later. She wasn't a witcher. She needed to be careful with that.

He rubbed his hands together; they warmed up as the energy began to flow and prickle his skin. He held a palm over her wounds, then slowly moved it to cover all the damage. His palm got hotter releasing the healing power, and flashes of her fight jolted through his mind like spooked birds. He didn't let his mind linger on it, focusing on his work.

Ciri closed her eyes as he worked, feeling better all at once. It wasn't just the healing of her torn skin, it was the tension easing from her sore muscles and her mind focusing on pleasant thoughts.

It ended much too quickly for her liking.

When it was done, he pulled another chair from the table and lowered on it, stilling for a moment to let the lightheadedness pass.

"What happened to these people you wanted to see?"

She followed him with her gaze as he rounded the table and found a chair of his own. He looked tired. Was it the healing? "You said you're a wanted man. I am wanted, too. But not just by the law." She hesitated a moment, still unsure whether or not she should tell him the full truth. He deserved to know. She supposed she was just frightened he'd turn and flee, like any sensible person would. "Have you ever heard of the Red Riders? Humans call them The Wild Hunt."

Kain frowned in thought. "It's like a legend, some ghostly procession riding across the skies dowsed in colors or shining, and no living thing should be caught in their way. Is that it? Some people believe they're demons, some believe they're dark fey."

"Yes," she nodded. "They are not ghosts, nor demons. They are Aen Elle. And believe me when I say, they are very real. They are ruthless when it comes to getting what they want, what they need. The people of this village… they got in their way."

Kain remembered the dreams he was having many times through his life. Sometimes he saw the same places, sometimes different, but the core sense stayed: he was being hunted and had to keep moving to get away. Sometimes they got him, and he woke up immediately. Sometimes he woke up while still trying to get away. He had a feeling she was describing something akin to that happening to her.

"Are they after you? Why?"

"I have something they want." She pulled her cloak back on to keep the cold out, watching him with a tired expression. "What everyone wants. And if I give it to them… this world will be overrun by the Red Riders. They will invade and kill. This will be their world and those of us who survive will be their slaves."

Kain gave her a weary look. "You plan on continuing with riddles? What do they want from you? Your power – whatever it is? I'm sure there are seers among them, as well."

Ciri smiled a little. "I am not a seer."

Sobering, she regarded him another long moment. "Swear to me you won't spill my secret? It seems the whole world knows sometimes. I forget the knowledge is actually highly restricted."

Kain scoffed softly. "I believe you've got a clear idea of how I live. Who would I tell? Griffin? I would have told him already about your Elder Blood. You gave it out with that fear for the White Frost. What I'm asking is what can you do with that blood that they need so badly? You don't seem to know exactly how to stop the Frost if it comes. I don't suppose they know it, either."

Ciri stared at him, completely taken aback by his revelation. He knew? He was a lot more perceptive than he let on. "I can travel through time and space. In the blink of an eye. At will. Without tiring," she said eventually. "Amongst other things.

"The Aen Elle wants access to that power. So they can raid the worlds like they used to. Their methods of travel are limited now."

It took a moment or three to process. He stared at her, surprised and incredulous.

What she told him about the other worlds and the White Frost made sense now - it was firsthand knowledge, after all.

"You said you couldn't you your power. You're scared they would track you." He pondered, regarding her. "You plan on running forever? Hiding from a horde of magic riders? Or that elf has an actual plan to save you?"

"They'd find me instantly. It's been… six years now since I escaped their world. They have been hunting me ever since." She nodded. "I was alone for a long time. I can't take them on my own. But now that I have reunited with my family and friends, we are preparing for battle. They are out gathering allies as we speak."

"Does that mean those riders can be killed like any others?"

She spread her arms in a quick gesture. "As all other elves, yes. But they are hard to kill. A lot of them are mages as well as extraordinary fighters. They've had centuries to hone their skills, after all.

"And their numbers far outweigh ours. We are aiming for the King and his three generals. They are the biggest threats."

It was a lot to carry around for a young girl. She was strong, but there was a breaking point looming on the horizon.

"It's no wonder you're so insane at times," he murmured, a fleeting smile touched the corners of his mouth, then died out. He sighed and looked at her. "I know how it feels about these people, but it's not you who killed them. It's the riders. You can't be blamed for what they do."

Ciri liked his smile. It made her stomach do a strange flippy sensation, and briefly ignited a smile of her own.

"The man I came here to see was called Skjall. He found me in the water, unconscious and wounded, and he brought me here. He and his family tended to my wounds, showed me kindness and hospitality." She swallowed. "I should have left here as soon as I woke. Instead I stayed for an hour more. And that was all it took. The Hunt came. We fought. And then we fled.

"Skjall, he… distracted them so I could get away. And I suppose he paid with his life. It is likely now someone I love will end up the same way."

Kain glanced around the abandoned room. It was cold and dead. He knew all inhabitants were not among the living, anymore. The house and its soul died with them.

He peered at her. "Don't say things like that before they happen. It might not be like this. Your friends are not of simple folk who cannot fight a magic army. These people, surely, stood no chance. But it wasn't your doing."

"Then why does it still feel like I bring nothing but misery and death?"

It was more of a rhetorical question than anything, not one she expected him to answer.

A shadow passed over his face as she said it. He had been feeling the same thing for years. It never truly passed. He couldn't undo things that happened. Neither could she.

Ciri rubbed a hand over her face. "Are you okay? The healing… does it weaken you?"

"Your scratches weren't bad, so it's fine. A bit of dizziness that goes away quickly." He shifted in the chair in subtle unease. "Have you decided what you do next?"

"My… Geralt and Yennefer, they are bound to return soon. In a day or two hopefully. Until then, unless absolutely necessary, I'd prefer not to go back to Kaer Trolde."

"He's going to look for you, and so will Ermion. I would expect him to. You'd need some strong magical aura to 'mask' your own. This island has a temple, its power spreads far enough. But you might need to ask for her help."

"Freyja's temple?" Ciri vaguely remembered it from time spent on the islands as a child. "Not sure I have the favor of the Gods. I never much believed in them."

"You don't need to believe in them to make them real. But a bit of trust takes you a long way when you could use their help. I think it's that time for you now. You can at least try."

He stood up, took his cloak off the chair and his satchel, then looked at her expectantly.

"How do you feel?"

Ciri stood as well, adjusting her gloves. "The wounds have healed," she said in response to his question. "Thank you for that."

She headed out of the cold, dark house and into the night, waiting for him there.

Kain left after her and took course of the path that led them here - it snaked through the woods toward the temple.

She followed him because he seemed to know the path they needed to go. "How do you know Ermion?"

"Through Brokilon and other druids we know."

"Do you have any family?" She kept her voice relatively low, so to not attract attention of potential beasties lurking in the forest.

He thought about Brokilon and druids, and couldn't decide whether he could call either group a family. "I think Griffin is the closest to that at the moment."

"Your mother?" He had to have had one at some point after all. A father, too, but they were more known to run away at the sign of responsibility. "My mother died when I was still a baby. Drowned. I don't remember her at all."

"I have a mother. Haven't seen her since I was seven."

Ciri didn't pry further, assuming by his short answers he didn't wish to go into the details. "Did the dryads teach you magic? The healing?"

"They taught me a lot of things. Just like every place I've ever been had. They didn't teach me magic - can't teach it, it's either there or not. They taught me how to work with it. Dryads taught me how to live in the woods, stay hidden and quiet, archery and their ways with magic."

Ciri remained quiet a while as they walked, contemplating what her life might have been like had the water of Brokilon worked as it was supposed to. If she had become one of them. Would she have been safer? Happier?

She couldn't decide. There would be no Geralt. No Yennefer. And that thought brought a misery of its own kind.

"Geralt and Yennefer you mentioned are those from the ballads, aren't they?" he asked after a while. "Makes you the Lion Cub of Cintra. The true princess. Makes sense now: your grandmother, the Queen, and her daughter had the elven blood. Of course you'd inherit it."

Ciri couldn't withhold a chuckle. "You've heard Dandelion's ballads? Yes, those are the ones."

It was a little disconcerting to have someone know so much about you when it wasn't information you had freely offered yourself. She should have been used to it, though. It often felt like most knew more about her than she did. "I'm not a princess anymore. The woman who married the Emperor of Nilfgaard took that title from me. We had a likeness apparently and she was able to convince most she was Cirilla of Cintra. I was on the run, so..." I shrugged. "I don't mind. I was never meant to be royalty."

"You are by your blood - no one can take it away or fake it," he argued nonchalantly, and looked at her with a hint of amusement. "But as for what comes with it - yes, I'm sure sinking boats in icy waters and getting clawed by various creatures is far more exciting than any dress or ball can be."

She smirked. "Dresses are too stifling. Can't fight anything in a poofy gown. I never liked them. Not even as a child. After my grandmother died I was raised by men. Witchers, as I am sure you know. Though that too led to some awkward moments, I was much more comfortable with them, training, rolling in the mud, scraping my knees, than I ever was at court."

"I figured." She looked it, too, with her reckless attitude and that scar across her cheek. He couldn't imagine her looking any more at home at a royal court.

Silence stretched between them again as they made their way towards the temple. "Have you been here before?" she asked once it came into view.

"An hour ago."

He pulled one of the doors open, letting her in and slipping after her. The door slowly drew closed on its own once released.

He slipped the satchel and the cloak on the floor next to one of the braziers, watching the girl.

Elder Blood or not, he was curious whether she knew how to work her magic aside from the travels, whether she could feel her way with it.

Ciri stepped inside and eyed our surroundings, feeling a tad uncomfortable due to her purpose of being here. Like she was an imposter. There was a statue of a woman in the center of the room. Freyja, she assumed. There was an energy surrounding her Ciri quite liked. Warm and comforting.

Ciri felt Kain's gaze on her and turned to look at him over her shoulder. "I don't know how to do this," she admitted with a touch of shame. "Do you think she will ask something of me in return?"

What if she was simply linking herself to yet another being who would loom over her until she died?

"She's not a troll under the bridge to demand a fee for crossing it," he said with a faint amused smile briefly touching his mouth. "Asking for help means faith. A bit of trust in that help is what she would expect from you. She's the Great Mother. Mothers don't demand sacrifices, their love is unconditional. All you have to do is allow yourself to let it in." He gestured at the statue. "Touch her, see if you feel anything. Let yourself feel."

Ciri inhaled and gathered her courage, slowly reaching out to let her fingertips rest against the statue's chest, then her whole palm. She closed her eyes and focused, sensing…

There was that warmth again. A pleasant warmth that spread through her cold limbs. For a moment she thought she could smell lilacs and gooseberries, bringing a smile to her face.

A mother. The mother.

"Wise, loving Freyja:

I ask for protection,

Under your falcon wings,

And war-maiden's shield.

Please conceal me here in your holy temple,

to not be found by magic or wit."

A prayer that came alive in her mind. She did not know if those were the correct words, if they would please and appease the goddess. But she hoped. She believed.

Kain smiled without knowing it while watching how she did. Her power guided her when she let it. As it always did.

She might not know how to use her sight while awake, but his trained eye saw the dance of colored lights around her; they went in and over her, surrounded and added to her own. A little trust offered went a long way.

Ciri remained silent and still for a moment more after her prayer ceased, trying to imbue the magical presence she felt with gratitude and humility. As was fitting for a goddess, if she understood correctly.

Then, slowly, she let her hand fall away, turning to look at him as if asking for reassurance she had done alright.

He gave a nod to her questioning gaze and didn't ask about what she felt – he was certain she did feel it. It ought to help her feel a bit better.

"I won't be able to stay here," he warned. "Griffin and I don't separate for long on unknown grounds."

"I figured," she said with a slight smile, stepping away from the statue. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"Doesn't seem like anyone's coming before sunrise," he said. "With your ability to attract things that witchers hunt I doubt I can leave you alone for the night."

Her lips quirked in amusement at his insinuation that she was a trouble magnet. "So what do you suggest?"

"A cave instead of this," he smirked. "One stony floor instead of another and the safety of Griffin's side."

He slipped the satchel's strap onto his shoulder and hung his cloak over it.

Ciri considered it a moment and eventually nodded. "Alright. Have you found a cave already?"

"There was one where we landed. Seemed like there could be nekkers. It's close to the village, so the people will benefit from me cleaning it out."

He pulled the door open and held it for her to slip out.

"Who knew you were so charitable?" she teased and headed out, pulling her hood on again and allowing him to lead the way.

"It benefits me before them. I'm rather selfish. All charity comes as consequence of that."

Kain picked the direction and jogged into the woods. He kept his pace to not overwork the girl, but still it didn't take them long to find Griffin. He was cleaning his feathers and claws, clearly sated.

He croaked, surprised to see the girl, but he did remember her. He stretched his neck, sniffing and studying her, walked around her slowly, then let her be.

He found his bow and quiver in the shrubs where he hid them and put them on, slipping his satchel and cloak in the shrubs instead.

The cave's entrance was one minute away, but before heading there he acquainted himself with what grew around and picked some sage. He plucked a few long strings of grass and bound sage to an arrow. Then turned to Ciri.

"You can wait here, we'll do it quickly."

Ciri eyed him with an impish, but determined gaze. "I can but I won't."

She shed her cloak as well and drew her sword. Swallow glinted under the light of the moon.

"Lead the way."

Kain gave a quiet croak, getting Griffin's attention, and they approached the cave.

He lit the sage, blowing on it to make it smoke, then put the arrow on the bow and shot it into the cave.

Moments later the sounds from the darkness alerted them to the panic ensuing. And then they fled outside.

Screeching with enthusiasm of the cat-mouse hunt, Griffin began to dash and catch the screaming midgets. Kain drew his sword and got busy with those his claws and beak missed.

Smoking them out – literally. Clever.

Ciri stayed out of the griffin's way, allowing him to take the brunt of the attack because, apparently, it was an activity he greatly enjoyed. Kain stayed close to him, while Ciri remained further behind, slicing at the few stragglers that managed to avoid both griffin and man, ensuring none escaped and would return later to wreak vengeance.

It wasn't a large group, and the rush of the hunt ended rather quickly. Kain left the bow next to the cave entrance and began to drag the bodies into a pile away from it. Griffin mimicked like a dog would. Kain held out a hand, focusing, and the pile flashed in flames. He stood back, watching it burn. The bodies were reduced to ashes quicker than wooden logs would, and fire died out once the purpose was fulfilled.

He picked up the bow and led the way into the cave.

Sage had effectively taken care of nekker stench, but it took efforts to make out the layout. Griffin picked a spot, twirled around on it and lowered down like a cat, busying himself with cleaning once again. Kain deposited his bow and quiver in the vicinity and turned to head out for his cloak and satchel.

"We'll need some firewood."

Kain, his magic, and the griffin handled the corpses marvelously. Ciri stood back to watch for a moment before following them into the first part of the cave. It was sufficiently empty now, no lurkers lingering behind. Or so she assumed due to a severe lack of light.

She sheathed her sword.

"Bring me my cloak as well and I'll find some wood," she told Kain, trailing him outside again.

"Don't go far, princess."

"Not a princess!" she reminded him with a playful glower before wandering off amongst the tees to find fallen twigs and branches.

He picked up their possessions and brought them in, then went outside to gather some branches. They weren't too dry - it had been raining not too long ago. It didn't matter much for a fire conjured.

Keeping an eye on the girl's silhouette wandering among the trees, he collected a bunch of twigs, sticks and branches of his own.

He lit the pile inside the cave, and when Ciri returned, she no longer had to feel her way around.

She collected an armful and returned to the cave where Kain had already started a fire. She placed the heap of wood a short distance from the fire so they could add more when needed.

The griffin had already made himself comfortable, cleaning his feathers while shooting cautious looks her way every now and then. She supposed they were both still a bit wary of one another.

Ciri claimed her cloak and draped it onto the stone floor, settling down atop it and removing her weapon from her back.

"I'll be back soon," he said after surveying his hands, and headed outside. It was going to be cold, but he wasn't going to be long.

"Alright," she said, watching him go. She wasn't going to pry, assuming he had some private business to tend to. Possibly in the bushes.

She probed her split lip with her tongue and no longer tasted blood. That was an improvement.

Left to herself and her thoughts, her mind wandered to Avallac'h, unable to wonder how furious he was and what he would tell Geralt should they make it back before Ciri did.

Breathing as he had been taught a long time ago, Kain shrugged off his jacket and pulled off his shirt, then his trousers, and lay them down on the ground next to the sword.

He shivered, entering the spring - the water was freezing. It was hard to maintain the breathing as he hurried to wash and get out. He dove, scrubbing his scalp in case some nekker blood got there and on his face, then came out to the shore. He snatched the shirt from the pile, returned and washed and rinsed it, then hurried out wringing it as he went.

He pulled on his pants and jacket, shivering, then pulled on his boots and set back to the cave, the Cat Medallion hidden in the jacket's pocket.

It was much warmer inside now. He lay the wet shirt on a rock to dry through the night and settled half-lying against the griffin's hinder legs, enjoying the warmth.

For some reason Ciri could not take her eyes off his semi-bare torso when Kain re-entered the cave. Not until he settled down facing her.

She'd seen men's torsos before. The witchers sometimes even trained without their shirts. But they'd never had the effect on her Kain suddenly did.

She cleared her throat, attempting to do the same with her mind. "Did you fall in?"

He frowned, "No…"

"Right. You're just wet, is all," she murmured. Of course he already knew that.

She forced her gaze off of him and settled it on the burning fire instead.

He couldn't help a quick sneer, amused, and raised an eyebrow, "You don't bathe in water?"

"Not in ice water, usually." She paused. "I suppose that speaks of my privilege. Or my willingness to be covered in blood rather than being cold."

"I live in the woods, and water's always cold. I don't like being covered in blood. I'll feel and smell it all night."

"I suppose I am just used it; I'm always covered in some bodily fluid or another." It had been a rough decade.

The way she phrased it cut his hearing in a deeply unpleasant way, and he made an effort to shake the sensation before some images crept into his mind. He didn't want to pry and leaned his head back against the griffin's hip, closing his eyes. It was unusual to be in someone else's company, but not uncomfortable, either.

She lay down on her side atop her cloak, close to the fire but not so near she'd accidentally roll into the flames should she get some sleep.

Ciri stared into the fire for a long time, until her eyes slid shut of their own accord and sleep claimed her.

For a while there was nothing but rest and as if she was aware of it, they were hours she reveled.

But like always He showed up in the end. He always did.

"Where are you, me elaine luned?"

She bristles. It is easier to do so when he does not touch her. Her head was cleared then. "I am not your girl," she hisses in the Elder Speech.

She can see the outline of him in the darkness and when he steps into view Ciri takes an automatic step back. Or tries to, anyhow. Her legs will not yield.

Eredin's face – beautiful and terrifying – cracks in a crooked smile. "You've grown since we last saw one another, Zireael." His green eyes rake over her body with hunger. "Filled out. No longer a child, but a woman."

He closes the distance between them suddenly and she's in his arms, a helpless puppet filled with rage and shame, fear and arousal. Why does she keep letting him do this to her? Why does she keep allowing him to enter her mind? To torment her? And why, most shamefully of all, does her body respond to his touch with such desire she feels as though she might combust? What is wrong with her?

"Your power has grown as well," he continues, his warm breath on her ear, hands roaming. "So strong now, little Swallow. And yet… The Fox refuses you your birthright. You were meant to travel time and space. To be free. They keep you caged, en'ca minne. I would never do such a thing. With me, you would be yourself. Entirely. Don't you want to be free?"

Even within her vision her eyes close and she leans into Eredin's body. "Yes," she whispers. She wants that more than anything.

"Come to me, Zireael. I am just one tiny leap away. Come."