When she woke the following morning, she got dressed, braided her one-sided long hair and made her way downstairs. Neither Goran nor Ladva were there, but there was bread, cheese and herbal tea on the table… but not for long! Elora spent the noon chopping wood, harvesting crops and collecting a few herbs that Goran used as spices. She kept a part for herself to make potions.

It became early afternoon, and it also became obvious that she would easily finish the tasks that earned her board and lodge at the Waclaw Farmstead. Elora took a break and walked towards the hamlet's center where the clang and bang of the blacksmith's came from. She saw Roos's father from afar. Floris, as Ladva had told her. As she approached, she greeted him and reached for her steel blade. "If you're not too busy right now, could you repair that notch?"

Floris took the blade, weighed it carefully in his hand before taking a closer look. His build was slender and seemed untypical for a blacksmith – except for his muscular arms. His face was finely chiseled with alert emerald eyes. Probably a Quadroon, a quarter-elf, Elora thought to herself. And if he was any indication, his daughter could easily be the prettiest girl in a day's reach. Yes, on horseback. Floris spoke with a melodious baritone, which Elora involuntarily tried to rank among her most favorite voices. "Not a problem, Witcher… Witcherette? Excuse me, how does your kind prefer to be addressed?"

"Witcher will do nicely," Elora smiled. "How about you?"

Floris abruptly raised his gaze from her blade, but his hand clenched tighter around its grip. "What do you…"

"It's… I mean no harm." Elora felt badly for evoking such a reaction in the man, but sometimes it was nice to…. Well, what exactly? To connect with strangers with whom one had nothing in common except they were outsiders, too? "I meant no offense. In fact, I came here to talk to you about your daughter. I think she may be in trouble."

The blacksmith went to prepare his tools, turning his face away from Elora. When he spoke again, the singsong of his voice died down. "Who is it this time? The shepherd, the innkeeper with his brutish boy, or the old carpenter? The merchant from Yvengrove who deserted his wife when she lost her beauty after a charlatan sold her some botched elixir? Someone from that cesspool of Vizima, who wants to buy her for the brothel?" He spat out the last few words disgustedly.

"Honestly, I don't know. Someone wanted to hire me for a little show to impress her, but I declined. I am not a panderer, especially not with such means." Elora had raised her voice as the smith set to work, but soon noticed that the blacksmith's pounding on her blade had been joined by a second source of noise. "Do you have an Apprentice? I was unaware that this place has that much need of smithery."

"Yes, I do. She has much to learn, but shows great promise." Floris didn't look up, but Elora grinned.

"Your daughter, then. I am all for women picking up untraditional professions. May I speak with her?"

"Of course, Witcher. Just around the corner." Floris smiled back at her and returned to the repairs.

"Hello Roos," Elora said when she stepped around the corner. A girl stood behind an anvil, a blacksmith's apron, likely her father's, wrapped twice around her slender figure. She was covered in coal dust that made her tan skin even darker; her curly dark brown hair was hidden under a boyish cap. Her green eyes sparkled as she caught Elora's gaze. She definitely was beautiful. She had her father's nose and mouth, and her voice had the same musical quality.

"I take it a woman like you is not as surprised as some other clients of my father?" she smiled.

Elora nodded. "Not really. But listen, Roos. I wanted to talk with you about something. It seems there is a man in this village or from without, who might not stick to the rules to get…"

"Me." Roos cut in. "I am so tired of this. I do want to have a husband and children some day. But I also want to be a blacksmith. Several men have asked for my hand in marriage, some claim they have a right to it based on this or that tradition, but they all expect me to give up my profession. I won't have it. And father supports my choice."

"I envy you, Roos." Elora said quietly. "I wasn't given a choice of what to become. But I can make choices now, and I think all women should be allowed to choose for themselves. Let's talk about this with your father?"

"Alright. But not now, I have a few things to finish for Elder Tadeusz. Let's meet at the Tavern tonight, I think father wanted to meet up with the mine owner anyway."

"Agreed. But let your father go before you. I will come here again and we'll go together."

Roos gave her a questioning look, but seemed to change her mind about protesting. "Before we part, may I know what your name is?"

"Eléanor.", Elora said with a slight bow, followed by a wide grin. "Witcher Eléanor de Drakenborg."

Roos wiped her hands on her apron. "Well, Eléanor de Drakenborg, I would like to greet you properly but knowing you stay with Ladva, I don't want to make you… any dirtier than you already are." She giggled, for the first time betraying her young age of probably fourteen or fifteen years.

Elora looked down to her the tips of her mud-covered boots and wiped her hands clean on her pants before running her fingers through her hair, which whirled up a fair amount of straws. She shrugged. "I promise to groom myself before meeting you at the tavern."

"So will I," said Roos. "But don't overdo it, Witcher. We locals are a ragged bunch."

Elora picked up her sword from Floris and went back to her work at the farmstead. Goran had returned from the forest with a few other villagers in tow. They had brought firewood to be cut up the next day, but were now enjoying their mugs of ale in the afternoon sun. The Witcher nodded to them on her way around the house to the remainder of hay to be stacked on the shabby wooden frame to dry. Before noon, she had whistled traditional tunes from Redania and Temeria, but now, she was intently listening in on the men's chatter. For a Witcher's acute hearing, it wasn't too far away, but the hay was rustling and the clear water rushed down the little creek. They were talking about the day's work, some village gossip and how the weather might influence their crops. But Elora was not paying as much attention to what they were saying, more to their voices and tone. The hooded man was not among them.

Later, after washing her face and diligently combing her hair, she took several attempts to pin up her single braid over the short part of her hair, in similar fashion to what she had seen several girls wear in the village earlier that day. Apparently this hairdo was easier with two braids, but the result was acceptable.

She went downstairs for supper, consisting of Goran's famed fish soup and fresh baked bread. As she was about to get up, Goran smirked at her. Ladva spoke up. "He wants to tell you to have a fun night. Oh yes, yes, we both noticed the hair, girl."

Elora blushed a bit. She had just wanted to fit in with the locals – at least that was part of it. It might help countering, for example, the fact that few townsfolk carried around two blades with them, hat cat eyes or scars across their faces. Thus, the first visit to any tavern in the Northern Kingdoms was usually a delicate affair for witchers. And so it was for women in general, though in her case, that kind of problem could most of the time be solved with a stare or a slight gesture towards the dagger in her belt. Sometimes, she used the Axii Sign to that end, but there was the slight problem that the offender forgot what they had done and would not be any wiser the next time around, and maybe towards a woman less capable of defending herself.

She signed "Thank you" to her hosts, a simple gesture she had picked up from Ladva, grabbed her cloak and made off towards the blacksmith's house. Dusk was approaching, but this remote end of the village was not lit by lanterns.

She spat out the mint leaves she had been chewing behind a shrub, and knocked at the door. Roos' bid her to enter. The small house was furnished more sophisticatedly than the Waclaw Farmstead, but less clean. There was only one oil lamp lit, on the table in the center of the main room. Roos was reading a book, it had no title written on its cover. "Just three more lines!"

Elora waited for her to finish. Roos wore a dark blue gown, her hair was tied back loosely and fixed with what could be an Elven… hair thing. Not Elora's expertise. Roos had obviously, and unlike the Witcher, found the time to take a bath in the afternoon.

Roos closed the book and put out the lamp. "Oh, that was stupid. I should have taken my cloak first. I never recall where I put my things."

Elora heard her fumble around on the table for matches, while she was scanning the dark for a cloak. "I have it. Let's go." she said a few moments later.

On the short walk towards the tavern, which was called the Golden Goose, supposedly because this hamlet had been the home of the simpleton that had found said goose, Roos was quiet but seemed occupied with something. She drew in her breath repeatedly, as if wanting to say something, but remained quiet.

"Yes, it's true," Elora responded to the unspoken question, "we can see in the dark. But in fact I had spotted your cloak while you were finishing your book."

Roos chuckled. "You're a wise woman. I wasn't sure if I should ask."

"Most of us prefer questions to having rocks thrown at us. But no, I am not wise. I am not that old."

They entered the tavern, which was not quite entirely unlike most other taverns Elora had seen. The reactions of the guests were not surprising either – some stared at her, some looked down, some began to whisper. But in all honesty, Elora had to admit that most of them were staring at Roos. It was a pleasant surprise, but a weird one, too.

They sat down at a table in the far corner of the room. Elora once again began listening for the voice of the hooded man, intently enough to startle when Floris approached and greeted them. "Eléanor, dearest daughter, pleased to see you." Eléanor? Father and daughter must have talked about her after her earlier visit, Elora realized. The women returned the greeting and Floris continued right away. "Tell me what happened, please."

Elora started by stating that the suitor was most likely not present, which seemed to cause the slightest easing of Floris musculature – not that anyone was looking anywhere they shouldn't. She told the rest of the story, with the interruption of the waitress who brought them drinks.

Floris drank, stared into his mug for a while before looking at Elora again. "Why would he tell you of the nature of this contract when it was already clear you were the wrong choice?"

Elora really had no clue about his reasons. "I am not sure. I was foolish to curse him, but I was hungry and angry. Maybe he blurted out his plans for the same reason? Perhaps he thought I'd move on the same night, after not getting the contract. Or he was signed on to the idea that Witchers don't care about anything that doesn't have a price tag attached".

"Don't blame yourself, Eléanor." Oh, that voice, when he spoke her name! "And about that price tag…" He flashed a boyish grin.

"I will keep my eyes and ears open for free. If you want me to investigate, however, I need compensation for what I can't earn with…" Elora sighed. "…making haystacks."

"Very well," Floris said, placing a small pouch in her hand after looking around for potential eye-witnesses. "If you find whoever would resort to such measures to gain our trust or even Roos' hand in marriage, I will generously add to that sum. And I have a rune that I could improve your silver sword with. As far as we can tell, it's an old Elven one that will enhance…"

Roos interrupted him. "We believe it makes Undead experience pain as if they were alive once again. Mother has written about it in her diaries. She knew such stuff." Roos looked immensely proud, and Elora recalled the untitled book that Roos had been reading earlier.

"My wife studied archaeology. She dug up many a trinket in her day, and sometimes runestones and such," Floris added.

"I accept." Elora took another gulp from her mug. Retelling the events of the night before had made her mouth dry.

They talked some more about Elven ruins and Elven runes, discussed the advantages and disadvantages of various types of weapons and had another mug of ale. Once in a while, other townsfolk greeted Floris on their way out of the tavern; some of them seemed to include Elora in their gesture, while others didn't. Roos had fallen asleep, leaning on Elora's shoulder. Her hair smelled of flowers, something that Elora's had not done since her last stay in Vizima several weeks ago, when she had fulfilled a well-paid contract and quickly spent the money on good food and Toussaint wine, a day at the bathhouse, equipment repairs and brand new boots. Boots that were now covered in mud and probably farm animal droppings. Not that it mattered in a place filled with smells of food, drink, sweat, smoke and many more that mixed into a typical eau de taverne.

At some point, Floris made an apologetic gesture and woke Roos to head home. They paid for the drinks and the blacksmith was told by one of the remaining customers to be expecting a rather large number of damaged or dull tools to repair the next day. All in all, it seemed that neither Floris nor Roos were treated badly by the villagers. Or they had not noticed. Humans were known for missing such details just as Quadroons were famous for fitting in.

They parted at the blacksmith's house. Floris bowed politely, but Roos hugged her, much to Elora's surprise. She walked back to the farmstead and sat down on one of the benches in the front. It was not yet midnight, and she enjoyed the cool but not chilly night, for the sky was full of stars. A magnificent view! Elora looked for the constellation of the Cat, and smiled. She began to meditate, something she had not done for longer than she liked.