"Ah, Dandelion..." her voice was a bit faint and groggy, but some color had returned to her cheeks. It was a matter of a day for the celebrated sorceress Triss Merigold to finally look her beautiful self again.

"Shh," the poet responded. "Don't talk. You have to eat something and sleep some more and you'll be up and about. Doctor's promises."

"Oh... I don't think I can... eat anything... right now..."

"Oh but you haven't tasted what I brought you from The Alchemy, dear Triss. It's their famous spicy chicken broth! You haven't eaten such heavenly delight before, I assure you. Just try! It'll get you up in a few hours! I swear on my name, and you know how seriously I take my name!"

She smiled and it was almost the smile of the lively Triss Merigold, the youngest member of the Lodge. "Thank you, Dandelion," she breathed. "It means a lot."

He covered her hand with his, smiling. "What you did means a lot to this city. Rest well. Our battles are still to be won."

Triss smiled, then sobered. "Where's Geralt? Kain? Ciri? Are they back yet?"

"I think they went back to check if everything is fine in Novigrad," the poet lied.

"Oh... I would wish to see them... Soon, I hope."

"Sooner than you think," he promised eagerly, "if you let yourself rest a little more.

"Here," Shani smiled, settling on the side of the mage's bed with the bowl of broth. "Allow me to help." They had sat her up on the pillows - she was still weak, even though her fever had broken this morning, and her diarrhea and vomiting seemed to have stopped torturing her. Fringilla had been aiding her with magic the past couple of days, but with all the work the sorceresses had to do around the city she had little to spare without collapsing herself, and the healing process had been slow-going.

Dandelion removed himself from the room to let Shani feed her in privacy. He had a lot to think of.

Shani found him in the Academy garden half an hour later, observing a restored statue among the flowerbeds.

"Is something the matter?"

He jumped a little and turned with a slightly reprimanding gaze. "Don't sneak up to people like that! Almost gave me a stroke... How is she?"

"Sleeping. Ate the whole bowl, so now we wait. I suppose the worst of it has passed and I expect no more diarrhea attacks, nor vomiting. I think she'll keep this one in."

"What makes you so sure?"

Shani chuckled softly. "I'm a medic, Dandelion. Have you seen her? She looks much better - no more grey color. If everything is good, she can return to Novigrad by tonight. Or tomorrow."

He forced a quick smile, "Good, good." And turned back to the statue.

"You're brooding," she said softly, stepping closer.

"No, I was just... pondering her condition. How ironic is it to be such a powerful mage and catch such mundane bugs from people? So unfair-"

"It's not it, Dandelion," she interrupted. "You've come back gloomy from your Alchemy performance last night, and that never happens when you perform." She placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezed a little. "Talk to me."

He looked at her, pained, and sighed. "I need some good old Toussaint wine. Let's go. It's my treat."

She beamed, "I haven't eaten yet."

They took the farthest table and a bottle of the famed Est Est with their meatloaf. He drank and spoke, she ate and listened. After a bit, Dandelion, too, felt his appetite stir.

"Why is it strange?" Shani asked, refilling their glasses. "Every young person has conflicts with his or her parents or friends, different views and such be the reasons."

"But it's never been like that before!" the poet argued fervently, then sobered, pondering. "Not like she's had much of time with them since we've reunited with her. She's... I knew she changed. All of us knew that. But this... this way she spoke, the way she looked at me when she said it... It's so unlike her. It frightened me, Shani. Like suddenly it was just her face and someone else behind it, you see?"

"From what you told me, she's been on the run most her life."

"Yes."

"And has witnessed war in Cintra as a child."

"Oh yes, that was most awful! Thank gods Geralt found her in the end. Until, well, he lost her again in another war..."

Shani took a swallow of wine and peered at her friend calmly. "My point is, I've been to war. I know what it's like. And you know, too. She was a child, and she probably had nightmares after, is that so?"

"Yes! Geralt told me."

"I've seen it in many people gone through war - adults, soldiers and civilians alike. It's that trauma of such experience that embeds itself into their psyche and doesn't let go. Especially children who remember traumatic events clearer. It's not a norm, of course, but it's not strange at all, I assure you."

Dandelion was uncertain whether to feel relieved or newly worried. "Can it be cured?"

"It's not a cold or pox, Dandelion. The human psyche is so mysterious that one can never be fully positive or negative on that matter. Be it any healer or medic of any degree of experience, none will tell for sure. But I have seen some positive results when said soldiers had a loving patient family to return to. Sometimes love and care, peace and patience can mend some of those wounds."

"Peace," he drawled, forking his meat. "She won't have that any time soon."

"I know it's a long shot to hope for that, but she has love in abundance from all of you."

"If only she didn't view it as a suffocating collar," he said bitterly, sending a piece of meat into his mouth, chewing.

"She says so, but it doesn't mean she feels so. Everyone who's been young knows it."

"Maybe I'm so old I've forgotten," he grumbled.

"Oh come on, famous troubadour," Shani laughed. "Don't play the victim here. You barely look thirty and you know it."

He fought it, but the smallest of smiles still seeped through his defenses.

He felt slightly better, too.

She had to be right. It was nothing, and he was overreacting on the wave of his own stresses from the battle.

"When do you plan on returning to Novigrad?" Shani asked.

"As soon as Triss feels better."

"But Fringilla can only take one at a time?"

"Yes, and it would be her friend. I shall wait and then travel by horse, perhaps. My trusty Pegasus awaits in the Academy stables."

"Think Geralt will return here first?"

"Oh I hope so. I'd rather travel back home with him."

Shani smiled. "Yes, would be nice."

"Why haven't the Lodge come out to greet us, you think?" Ciri asked an hour later as she and Yennefer sipped wine on the porch. "I would have expected Philippa to want to chide us all for doing something without discussing it with her first."

"Margarita is in Oxenfurt," Yennefer stated, closing her eyes so she could enjoy the sun on her face as she had inside the temple walls. "As for Philippa, I didn't feel her around earlier. I assume she's gone to take care of her own schemes." Yennefer gave Ciri a thoughtful look. "You're worried they've abandoned us?"

"More worried they're plotting. Something ominous," Ciri murmured, eyeing the rare passer-by on the street outside. "Do you think they will make further demands in order to help us?"

"I wouldn't put it past them," Yennefer replied honestly. "Nevertheless, I'm sure, if it comes down to negotiation, Geralt and Triss will do their utmost to curb their greed and remind them of the good we've already done to help them."

Ciri wasn't convinced. Oh, she knew Geralt would do what he could to ensure the sorceresses' help. But she didn't truly trust Triss's intentions. The redhead had made it perfectly clear she thought Ciri should give in to Emhyr and become empress. Just like the rest of the Lodge.

"If they try to pull away, we'll punish them," Ciri said, closing her eyes as she leaned back in her seat, allowing the sun to warm her face.

"We will?" Yennefer asked. In the past she'd have been amused by that notion, yet, considering what she knew and had witnessed, she wasn't so sure the Ciri was joking anymore. "How?"

Ciri smiled, her eyes still closed. "Not sure yet. But it will be memorable enough to make anyone else who considers betraying us quake in their boots."

Yennefer stared at Ciri, a pang of remorse slicing through her at the girl's declaration. All day they'd been dealing with Yennefer's mission to find the djinn's second book and for a moment she'd allowed herself to think Ciri was better. Yennefer reached for Ciri's hand and sipped at her wine. "You'd tell me if there was something else wrong, wouldn't you?"

Ciri looked at her, a small frown pinching her brow. "What do you mean?"

"It just means that if you have anything on your mind that you want to talk about. I'll listen."

"Oh." Ciri shook her head. "No. I'm fine. A little bored, maybe."

"Only a little?" Yennefer mused and closed her eyes. She raised a hand, muttered an incantation and a moment later a book appeared in her hand. She extended it to Ciri. It was an adventure book about swashbucklers seeking some mystical sea monster that she'd kept and got specifically for Ciri during her search. There wasn't a stitch of dust on it. There had been times in the past where they loved to read together, where they'd take turns reading out loud. "I bought this for you some years back. I've been meaning to give it to you so that we could read it together, but the right time never seemed to come about. You do still like to read, don't you?"

"I do enjoy books." Not that Ciri had experienced the opportunity to read any good ones for quite some time.

She set her cup of wine down and opened the book, perusing the pages with curiosity.

Yennefer was relieved to hear that her love of books hadn't changed, her heart giving a leap as Ciri proceeded to flick through the pages.

Ciri's eyes widened slightly when it was made apparent the protagonist had some rather saucy adventures already in the very first chapter.

"What's the best sex you have ever had?" Ciri asked Yennefer, pretending to be only mildly interested in the answer.

Yennefer took a lengthy sip of her wine and then stilled. To anyone else Ciri's direction to sex might have come off strange, but to Yennefer, it was another reminder that her daughter was not transmuting into some beast with darkening desires of murder, but perhaps just a young woman riddled with sexual frustrations and curiosity.

A strange thought given the state of Ciri's life the last five years.

"There are many instances of such over the years that I can recall. The one that sticks out in my mind happened on Beltane as I wasn't expecting it to be so earthshattering."

Ciri was silent a while, her jaw subtly working back and forth as she thought.

"Who with?"

"Geralt," Yennefer answered, wondering if that at all surprised Ciri.

Ciri had expected that answer. She was silent for another good while before she asked again: "Are men ever satisfied? Why do they always jump from woman to woman as if scared they are going to miss out on the next best thing?"

"Some men can be satisfied and content with one woman," Yennefer replied, thinking back on Istredd, their history and his proposal for them to lay roots. "Others are afraid of what that might mean, what they could do to unintentionally hurt their partner or how they would feel when locked in that commitment. I know the latter has never been easy for me. Although, your point is not lost, there are a number of men and women who merely like to explore other people without any desire for ties. Sometimes it's just that simple."

"You and Geralt loved each other," Ciri pointed out cautiously. "When you lived together, you loved each other. Yet you still sought the company of other people." At least, that's what Dandelion had told her. "Was that fear?"

"Of course," Yennefer supplied. "I was never used to having someone in my company for such long periods of time or the desire of wanting them in that space. It was a little overwhelming."

"I think, if I ever take a lover, I won't want them having anyone else," Ciri said after some contemplation. "I think it would upset me greatly. Does that make me strange?"

"Not at all," Yennefer answered. "I don't like when Geralt has other lovers, either. Never have. But it is the way of one's world when you're unwilling to make compromises."

Ciri looked at her. "What sort of compromises?"

"The type of compromise that comes from being able to make room in your life for someone else. For letting them take control of certain aspects, letting them change up the state of your home so it can become a duel abode and understanding that everyone's ways are different. It's not an easy thing to do when you've been alone for as long as I have."

"It doesn't sound so bad. Not when you haven't got a home." Ciri had never pictured herself as a homemaker of any sort. Perhaps that was why the thought of sharing something like that did not scare her. "Have you ever got rid of any of Geralt's women?"

"No, but that doesn't mean I haven't thought about it."

Yennefer drained her wine glass and wiped at the corners of her mouth lightly. An image of Triss popped into her head, alongside Fringilla, the lesser of the two evils.

Ciri smirked, impish. "Triss?"

"She is the thorn that continues to insert herself in our relationship. I'm surprised she hasn't tried to secure her place in his bed given that he has forgotten all about me – again."

"I don't understand how you can be friends when she is trying to take your happiness away."

"We've history. She was my friend long before Geralt became my lover."

"That makes it even worse, does it not?" Ciri asked, eyeing Yennefer curiously.

"It makes it hurt more."

"I'm sorry," Ciri said quietly. "That you're hurting."

Yennefer reached for her hand and squeezed Ciri's fingers gently.

"I'll live."

"Think you could find her if you wanted to?" Geralt asked when they slowed down to let the horses rest.

Kain peered at him, puzzled, and noted that the Witcher was deep in thought - same as when they rode out of Mortara shortly after it dawned. "Who?"

Geralt blinked, like a man waking from daydreaming. "Visenna."

Kain considered it briefly. "I suppose I might, but I'd rather not."

"Because she told you to keep away," Geralt's tone smelled of something bitter. "At least she told you as much. Doesn't seem like she wants to talk to me."

Kain studied him, frowning. "Why this conversation? What are you really thinking about?"

"Do you know how you survived?" The Witcher turned to look at his brother closely, reading his face.

"I don't remember much after the Crone and her pit," Kain admitted. "I barely recall seeing Ciri - felt like a dream. And then..." He trailed off, shrugged.

"No dreams or visions or anything?"

"Nothing solid. Some bits and pieces I can't be sure of. Why, you don't think I should've survived?"

"The amount of blood you lost made you a doomed man. Our only hope was your magic, but it took its time to kick in - if it's that at all. Is it? Was it your own magic that pulled you back?"

"I was taught that sometimes people have a choice whether to live or die, and it can be made while unconscious - by the soul. Do you know what I mean?"

Geralt thought of the striga; he thought of Vilgefortz, and nodded.

"I could've made the choice to live. I think I did."

"You think that would be enough? Despite the condition of your body?"

"I was brought up by druids," Kain smiled. "They believe the body responds to the soul, that everything can be healed with the right thought."

"Hmm."

Kain watched him brood for a bit, then added, "Frankly, I'd rather bet on having had some help."

"But there was just Ciri when I woke."

"Do you think mages need to physically be someplace to make a difference? I was also taught that a mother's prayer can get you from the bottom of the sea."

The Witcher shot him an astonished look. "She said that."

"Then you have your answer."

"She didn't want to talk to me, answer any questions." His mien turned sullen again.

"What did she say, exactly?"

"That I wasn't ready. What is there to be ready for?"

"Whatever she would like to tell you?" Kain reflected. "I don't believe there's none. You're her firstborn."

Geralt gave a cold laugh. "Doesn't seem like I'm anywhere near such priority level."

"I think you want to find out."

Geralt turned to him and met his studying eyes. "You know where I can do it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't have to find her for you, Geralt," Kain said with a sigh. "You can find each other wherever you are. As your dream proves."

"I had none since then."

The Cat Witcher set his hazel eyes on him. "Have you tried?"

Geralt scowled. "I'm not familiar with those druid tricks of yours. What should I do?"

Kain smiled. "No tricks. She and you are connected. A call should suffice."

He spurred Onyx into gallop. Geralt pondered for a moment, then send Roach to catch up.

"What do you know about tattoos?" Ciri asked Yennefer a while later, when the younger of the two had tired of the book and the adventures inside. "Is it possible to spell the ink away from the skin?"

"Permanently?" Yennefer asked, thinking about the answer to her question. "The only way I know is to magically burn it away, without a decent healer at hand it would scar and be quite painful. Might be easier to glamour it. Why? You have a tattoo you're looking to spell away?"

"If it was possible," Ciri said, putting the book down. "I suppose I could simply cut it away..."

"Show it to me," Yennefer said, trying to recall if she'd seen anything on her body.

Ciri hesitated. "Upstairs. I don't wish to remove my trousers out here." That could lead to all sorts of awkward situations.

She stood and headed for the front door to the inn, letting Yennefer follow her upstairs.

Once they were locked away in Geralt's old room, Ciri undressed and showed the sorceress the red and green rose adorning her inner thigh. The mark had once brought her a sense of belonging and comfort. But now Ciri felt only shame.

Yennefer leaned a little closer to inspect the rose, but she didn't touch it, sensing the disgrace as it rolled off Ciri in waves. She'd never been able to mask her emotions.

"I'll remove it. Do you want it done now?"

Ciri ran her fingertips over the rose. It had faded slightly since the night she got it and the colors were no longer as bright. But it still invoked complicated feelings. Anger, guilt, and shame.

"Yes," she said determinedly. "Erase it."

"Lie down," Yennefer instructed, gesturing to the bed. Thankfully everything she needed was already here. She walked over to her trappings chest, murmuring a few words that automatically let the lid pop open.

Ciri obeyed, lying down and letting one leg – the one carrying the tattoo – fall to the side. It felt awkward. But it was only Yennefer, she told herself. And Yennefer had never shied away from nudity. It seemed such a natural thing to the sorceress, Ciri sometimes wondered if Yennefer had ever felt shame regarding her own body. The way Ciri had.

"What do I need to do?"

"Just relax and center yourself," Yennefer said once she'd collected what she needed, and joined Ciri at the bed.

In her hands was the salve she'd made and used on Geralt when he'd been injured all those weeks ago. It wasn't much, and despite all Yennefer knew about magic, she wasn't the most proficient healer, but with the cream at hand and what she did know, it was possible that she could keep the scarring to a minimum. An aim that felt most significant.

She handed Ciri a thick stick, carved flowers on each side of the coin-sized tabs.

"Bite down when you're ready."

Ciri eyed the stick dubiously before taking it into her own hands. "How many others have had their mouth on this?"

She did not argue further anyway and bit down, inhaled, and gave Yennefer a nod of consent.

Yennefer held her palm inches above the slightly faded ink, booking it to memory, seeing it in her mind's eye and the pale unmarred flesh she once knew had been there.

"Oczyść to, co jest zaznaczone, uczyń je czystym," Yennefer chanted, repeating the phrase until Ciri's skin began to blister and bubble with painful clarity, distorting the once colourful rose.

When she was sure the magic had penetrated enough layers and the skin had softened, Yennefer used the lid of the salve to remove it in one swift scraping motion, applying a large dollop of the healing cream with the other hand to soothe it, accompanied by a fresh chant to heal the sore.

The stick between her teeth didn't stop Ciri from uttering a cry as the magic seared her skin, eyes immediately watering. She grasped the edges of the bed with both hands, tense and rigid until the attack ceased and all that was left in its wake was a throbbing burn.

Whatever concoction Yennefer rubbed on the wound tempered the worst of the pain, allowing Ciri to catch her breath. She removed the stick and threw her head back on the pillows, wiping at her damp face with her fingertips.

"Did it work?"

Yennefer waited on the cream and the magic to soak into her flesh before answering. There was a distinct red ring around where the tattoo had been and the new flesh on top looked raw, like it might be tender to the touch, but it would heal in time.

"I think so," she stated, applying another lathering of the cream, rising to her feet to find a strip of cloth with which to wrap it so it wouldn't get dirt in it. "Does it hurt much?"

"No," Ciri lied, lifting her head to get a look at the results.

The tattoo was gone. And now she wasn't sure how to feel about it. Relieved, she supposed. At least on the surface. But there was also guilt. Like she had just spat on Mistle's memory.

"Have you ever done this before?"

"No, I never had to," Yennefer replied, her voice soft as she smoothed the fabric around Ciri's thigh and knotted the end. "To be on the safe side, I don't suggest you go rolling in the swamp for the next few days. I'd hate for you develop some strange leg rot or something should it get dirty."

"I'll try not to but make no promises," Ciri answered. There was never a sure way of knowing what the following days would bring. "Thank you. For helping me."

"Always," Yennefer said, meeting her eyes to let her know the sincerity of such a promise. Yennefer—if she could help it—would never fail Ciri again. She gathered the biting stick and the salve, and returned it to the chest, moving to sit on the opposite side of the bed.

Ciri prodded the bandage curiously, stretching and testing her leg. "Hopefully it won't get in the way of tonight. We might have to do some climbing if we want to reach the balconies."

"We can wait a day if you'd rather nurse your wound," Yennefer said, stretching out on the mattress, studying Ciri.

Ciri scowled. "Of course not. We have to go tonight. Before Geralt comes back."

"Sure," she replied.

Yennefer didn't quite agree with the urgency of their mission, being that she knew for a fact that whatever Amos had stored in the bank wouldn't be going anywhere. She had the tab and Vimme hadn't mentioned anything about the time-lapse before it would become their collateral.

She petted the cover beside her.

"Rest a little before we head out. It'll speed up the healing from the salve and the magic."

Ciri agreed only after a moment's contemplation. "Alright."

It had not been a hard decision seeing as she had barely slept the night before, and with the new pain, Ciri's body practically demanded it.

She lay her head back and closed her eyes.

Yennefer closed her eyes with the pretense of sleep, opening them once Ciri's breathing had evened out, studying her relaxed features with concern. Yennefer was curious about the tattoo and the reason Ciri had been desperate to remove it, but she'd also felt that if Ciri wanted to tell her, that's exactly what she'd do. She'd made that much clear at the hot springs.

What more could she do?

The sun was on its decline when the witchers crossed into the Crookback Bog. It was still as eerily quiet, no bird chirped, no frog squashed, not even drowners made any sounds or attacked the intruders. The swamps looked devoid of life.

"It's hard to find your way around here," Geralt muttered while they trudged around picking their way from one grassy knoll to another. They led the horses behind them; Onyx didn't seem to care, but Roach pricked up her ears every other second and looked around with wide, crazy eyes, snorting and throwing her head.

"I believe it's this way," Kain pointed after a second's thought.

It was indeed that way; the corpses lay where Kain remembered. He didn't want to see it again, but his eyes couldn't look away while Geralt crouched beside the mummified remains, studying them and the ground around with his witcher sight.

"He's dried out," he murmured. "Is that what you can do?"

"It's what she can do. Our powers or use thereof might differ. I've never done anything like that."

"Think you could?"

"I wouldn't want to try."

Geralt didn't respond, but wariness wafted off him as he slowly made his way around all three bodies, giving each a thorough examination. They approached the blackened rabble of the Crones' chapel, and once again Kain sensed nothing around it. Even though Roach was getting antsier by the second and nearly bolted from Geralt when he approached to mount.

When they rode north towards the villages, the Witcher was as grim as a thunderstorm cloud.

The sky took a grimmer shade, as well, by the time the witchers reached the outskirts of Downwarren.

Geralt sucked in a deep breath and cast a gander at Kain. The latter nodded.

"I smell it, too."

Their horses did, as well, and - mostly due to Roach's inability to step over her raging sense of self-preservation for the sake of duty she had never accepted as her own - the duo left their mounts to graze at the foot of the hill the village sat on.

The smell intensified as they climbed the path up the hill; Geralt slowly drew his sword, attempting to be quiet. Though no sounds reached their ears, which reminded both of the Crones' clearing in the marshes.

The village appeared abandoned, but only at first glance - and to anyone who wasn't a witcher. If you would still and spend another moment or three on taking a better look, the sight of broken fences and crashed flowerbeds would jump at you, and in a moment, your eyes would catch a movement - on the borders of your vision. And then you'd pick up growling, and the movement would become the most prominent of views.

Growling lowly, groups of ghouls detached from what looked like heaps of dirty rags to creep toward the brothers, led by three bigger and bristling alghouls that appeared from seemingly thin air and in truth from either behind or inside of several huts with their doors open.

The witchers backed away, winning time to assess the situation while Kain drew out his Cat sword. There were seven ghouls with three bigger and smarter leaders that began to surround the men. They attacked from three sides in perfect unison, followed by the enraged ghouls eager for more blood. The wave of Igni fire cooled down a few of them, but the alghouls didn't seem to be taken aback much. They rolled away like dogs thrown by a bear, and recouped, lunging at the witchers aiming to separate them.

Geralt and Kain tried to keep together, slashing at the beasts, but the alghouls kept evading and getting away with minor cuts. Two ghouls fell twitching into the raspberry bushes, shaking the leaves and knocking berries off. The shaking stopped, but the loss of kin seemed to anger the remaining ones more. They rushed, snarling and screeching, venomous spit flying, and two more were flung away, one of them fell in different places upon meeting Geralt's blade. Kain threw his free hand forth, sending three beasts before him flying back into the huts and tool racks, Geralt behind him used Igni more and more. The closest hut caught fire on the rim of its hay roof, the orange tongues licked higher and wider eagerly like a hungry cat would spilt cream. Kain slashed at an alghoul, then flicked his hand ripping the burning piece off the roof and landing it on the monster's back. The alghoul howled, backing away trying to shake it off. But the burning hay stuck to its bristling spikes and refused to fall off. While it rolled around the ruined flowerbeds and patches of radish and lettuce, the other two lunged themselves at the offenders. Flanked by three remaining ghouls, they broke the witchers apart. They rolled, picked themselves up, and stabbed at the attacking ghouls, using fire and Igni, rolling and dodging and stabbing and slashing. The beasts hissed and screeched, another ghoul howled and rolled away burning with witcher fire. The two alghouls began to fall back and let the two remaining ghouls continue to exercise their frenzy until the witchers dispatched them. That was when the pair of alghouls felt they were done, and retreated as fast as they could.

The witchers swept their gazes around, panting. The sun was gone and the sky was beginning to darken rapidly. The carcasses of the burnt ghouls still emitted stinky smoke that coiled in the faint breeze.

"There was-" Geralt began when something big knocked him down past Kain; they rolled across the carrots and into the pea-vines, the Witcher's sword glistened dimly in the grass where it fell. Kain rushed to them, his hand shooting forth to knock the burnt alghoul off Geralt with a mighty magic push and set it on fire. It screeched rolling around, shedding specks of burnt flesh, but the flames ate into the beast like a starving swarm of killer ants. Soon enough the monster stilled, smoldering.

Kain helped Geralt up and handed him his lost sword. The Witcher was sporting deep gashes on his arms and legs from the claws. He was bleeding pretty badly.

"Dammit," he grunted as Kain crouched in front of him with his hands over the wounds to heal. "Should've remembered that bastard."

"You did," Kain said, focusing. "Just a bit late."

"It'd kill me. Unacceptable."

"It happens. It lurked waiting for its moment."

"Alghouls," Geralt growled and spat. "Hate them." He hissed, then the stinging subsided as the gashes skinned over gradually. Kain squatted down to wait out his dizziness. Geralt squeezed his shoulder. "Thank you. It would've taken me two or three days."

They checked the perimeter as thoroughly as they could; Geralt took his Cat potion and the thickening darkness didn't stave off his assessment. They peeked into the huts, noted deep scratches on the wood of the outside of most doors, bloodstains on the floors and lots of bits and pieces, bloodied flesh and bones. Some bodies were almost whole, some were eaten beyond recognition.

"Ealdorman," the Witcher said, turning the corpse's bloodied head to show something to Kain. "This ear cut off. No animals or birds got here yet and ghouls go for the gut first."

"Seems you're right," Kain nodded. "What of it? You knew him?"

"From the days I did the Crones a service. Any children?"

"Could be one, I think, but too little left to judge. No shoes, so..."

"Most children here were barefoot. While the late summer warmth lasts."

Kain went around the village one more time, lighting the torches, then approached the Wolf Witcher who was studying a sprawled eviscerated body.

"Three alghouls," Geralt mused, rising from his crouch. "It doesn't make sense for them to linger here unless there were survivors. They don't like to devour the dead."

"No cellars in the huts," Kain said. "The barn?"

"No, but I would look in the Ealdorman's house."

There was indeed a cellar door in the floor of the said house, and it was destroyed into a mess of splinters with three pairs of strong claws. The hole was jagged and narrow, and Geralt barely squeezed through.

Three men were hiding in the dark behind a mess of broken wooden shelves, broken glass and clay from the cracked jars and bottles crackled beneath Geralt's boots. When the three survivors saw a man instead of the foul beasts, all three wept in relief. The witchers helped them out - it took a while to convince them that the passage was safe. They shook and barely stood upright with fright and weakness. They settled in one of the huts with no blood inside and closed the door to calm the three men. The fireplace was lit, two bottles of moonshine of the five they found were emptied before one of them agreed to tell what happened.

"Been there for many days it feels, m'lords," he said, his voice shaking. "Them monsters came at dusk in the storm, two first, then two more. Didn't do nothin first, just stared from downhill, m'lords. Like waitin for somethin. We were afeared much, locked our babes and wives in, took 'em forks and shovels, lit 'em fires and yelled at 'em beasts to scare 'em off, y'know. They didn't leave till dawn, no matter the storm. Other demons howled horribly in them woods, stealin people. Even them wolves turn crazed, stole a babe from under them wenches' noses, bit few of them tryin to fight with forks and torches. Then we thought it a curse or somethin and sent our Ealdorman and two more to 'em Ladies to ask for mercy, but the shrine was gone! We didn't believe, ran half a village there to see, m'lords, but tis true! The shrine is gone! Our Ladies left us! Much afeared we was, m'lords, we was! Ealdorman say we don' leave, but some did. To them other places north, y'know. Ealdorman was much angry but had none to do 'bout it, y'know. One of 'em wenches took the babes from small to little and our only horse cart and fled away while we were decidin what to do. Them other wenches helped her do in quiet. Men were much angry, ragin, want to run after, but t'was much late. Ealdorman say we ought to go see the blind crone Thecla. Them Ladies keep her close, y'know. We all say it good idea, but then t'was dark again and 'em beasts return. Few them people ran, most die here. We stand no chance, m'lords. No chance with them claws and teeth. Ealdorman fell one of first, and we run to barn, but 'em monsters cut us off. We dash for Ealdorman's cellar, aye, the only way. They find us later down there, but couldn' break all 'em shelves. They left jus' now before you come."

"Yeah, they crawled out when they sensed us," Geralt confirmed.

"We owe yee thanks, m'lords," the other one uttered, passing the nearly empty bottle to his mate. "Yee save us. But more can come."

"We'll take you to another village," Kain said. "Lurtch or Lindevale?"

"My wench went to Lindevale to 'er mother," the third said after a hearty swallow. "I go there see if she lives."

"I got no one," the first one said. "I go with 'em."

"Me brother lie dead out there," the second said, his voice cracking. "I go Lindevale. Got nowhere and no soul else."

"All right," said Geralt. "We shall probably wait for morning."

"I'll get the horses," Kain said, reaching for the door. The three broken men shivered and drank. The night promised to be a long one.