After two more days before noon it finally stops raining and the sun comes out. At first, the forest is swathed in dense mist as the excess humidity of the previous days evaporates in the warming rays of sunlight. However, with quickly rising, summerly temperatures, the fog soon dissipates, at least in the places where the trees do not grow too densely for the sunlight to reach the forest ground.
The Witcher's company take advantage of the favourable weather conditions. When they come across a sun-flooded clearing by the track, Zoltan Chivay, the dwarves' leader, gives a sharp whistle ordering a break. A longer break than usual at this time of day, Cahir suspects, as the women start to undress all the children and themselves and drape the branches of the surrounding trees with their wet clothes so they would dry in the sun. While the children are running around the glade naked and happy, the women dressed only in their shifts hide shamefully in the bushes and prepare the food. Most of the dwarves sit down near the wagon and start playing their inevitable and noisy card game. The other dwarves, including the long-nosed one who looks more like a gnome than a dwarf, and Milva disappear somewhere in the woods, maybe to find or hunt some food. Cahir will have to be careful not to bump into one of them while they are gathering mushrooms or whatever they are looking for. In the meantime the Witcher sits himself down close by the card playing dwarves and watches, obviously intrigued by the game. It sounds complicated but like a lot of fun. The Sandpiper has occupied a particularly sun-kissed spot to take a nap. A good idea.
Cahir finds a sufficiently sunny spot between the bushes to spread out his wet cloak to dry and flops down against a tree. As always, he is terribly hungry, having only had a handful of nuts and berries for breakfast, but he does not feel like walking around the woods to try and find more just now. No, sitting in the sun for a while and finally getting a little warm while taking a nap sounds like a much better idea. And if one of the mushroom hunting party stumbles upon him, then so be it. They have not tried to kill him yet, so why would they suddenly go out of their way and do it? Yawning heartily, Cahir closes his eyes and raises his face toward the more than welcome sun. After another night filled with bad dreams, it takes less than a minute for him to fall fast asleep.
All of a sudden, Cahir is rudely awakened from his slumber by a horrible din. He jolts bolt upright. What the fuck? The noise sounds like somebody is beating a ladle against a big metal lid with all their strength. Is that the newest dinner call? If so, everybody from here to the Yaruga has certainly heard it. What folly. Or maybe it is something else?
Just when Cahir is about to stand up to check what is going on in the clearing, there is a rustling in the bushes. A split second later the most grotesque creature he has seen in his life is standing right before him on its two pairs of thin, knotty hind legs, its ugly head with the impressive, sharp mandibles and the huge eyes set on stalks level with his own. He freezes. Maybe if he does not move, the creature will just go away? Very slowly, he inches his hand toward the hilt of his sword. But he doubts that he would be quick enough to draw it and strike a mortal blow if the monster should suddenly decide to bite his head off. Although its segmented body resembles a half-rotten log, the creature seems to be able to move astoundingly swiftly. Was the racket from the glade supposed to drive the monster away? Well, it worked splendidly. And, even though most likely unintentionally, the Witcher might not only have gotten rid of the log creature but of his secret tail, too. Two birds killed with one stone, congratulations. Not exactly the end he has hoped for, no. Eaten by an overgrown creepy-crawly monster that accidentally ran into him in some nondescript northern forest. Who would have thought it?
The stalk eyes are coming nearer now as if the monster wanted to inspect Cahir more closely. Perhaps to figure out if he will make for a good meal? There is no chance that the monster is a vegetarian with those mandibles, is there? Cahir swallows hard as the sharp chewing mouthparts almost touch his throat. The monster opens and closes them rhythmically, producing ominous, clicking sounds. They glisten with a slimy, greenish fluid that looks decidedly like a deadly venom. Cahir hardly dares to breathe. A drop of the fluid falls onto his pants. The fabric gives off a sizzling sound before he feels a burning sensation in the skin of his left thigh. Shit. It is not only potentially venomous, but also caustic. He swallows again, suppressing a groan.
Suddenly, there is a loud and sharp whistle. The creature rears up even higher into the air, then, quick as lightning, disappears into the undergrowth. It is gone.
Cahir closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. He could hug and kiss that dwarf for his not a moment too soon signal to strike camp. He should get going, too, he then decides. The monster might come back for its human prey. Or attack his horse. Although, from what it looked like, the creature is probably more of the sit-and-wait ambush predator than a hunter. Cahir gets to his feet gingerly. His hands are shaking badly and his legs feel awfully wobbly. The first effects of the venom? He needs to wash off that disgusting monster spittle, and quick. Hopefully, it is not too late yet. With some poisons mere skin contact is enough to take full effect, even kill a person, and it feels like this here has burned quite a hole in his leg. Cahir suddenly feels queazy at the thought. If he had eaten anything, he would probably be retching up his breakfast now. With his stomach mostly empty, though, he manages to swallow down the bile. Feeling strangely dizzy and, all of a sudden, breaking into a heavy sweat, he makes it to his chestnut colt to get his canteen. He lets himself sink against a tree trunk, opens the metal flask with trembling fingers, then inspects his thigh. There is a big hole in the black fabric, almost the size of his palm. The skin beneath it is red and blistered, like burned. He quickly pours the content of his canteen onto it and groans from the ensuing pain. Then he blacks out.