He sits by the entrance to their cave, just where the curtain of the pale moonlight ends. He rests his fists against his knees and lets his mind go silent.
He rises up when the spots of moonlight on the rocks grow dull and as they fade, a brisk, dewy glow starts to seep through the thick branches. He grabs his swords and leaves the cave without making a sound. In the early morning the forest is cool and damp and full of rustling all around him. He slowly moves forward, listening carefully to the sounds echoing deep in the thicket. The creatures of the woods seem to slumber still, which makes his hunt easier. He crouches down in a thick bush and freezes in patient anticipation. After a while his sword swings sharply and then a hollow thump follows.
Coming back to their cave, he hears them from afar. He can hear the muffled sound of bustling, jarring and tapping, the quiet neighs and snorts of the horses, the low, hoarse tone of Wszebora's voice and the shrill chatter of her kid. When he enters, they both turn their eyes to him. The kid looks a bit sullen and scared, but still excited. His mother's gaze is full of indifference that tells him his presence is no longer anything out of ordinary for her. As if the sight of him has become something natural. He thinks of it briefly and decides it's a good feeling. He likes to see her so calm. Now he comes closer and shows her the wild hare he holds by the ears. She casts a brief glance towards it and nods a little and then turns back to whatever she's been doing when he was out on the hunt. There are open pouches and bags scattered on the ground around her feet. She checks them one by one. There's no hurry in her actions. She's focused and methodical. She pulls out some things and then packs them back into other bags with a thoughtful frown on her face. He surmises that what she's trying to do is to assess the scarce supplies they have gathered in such a hurry. She calculates how long they would last for and what stocks they are currently missing the most and already plans the journey ahead. Because the journey itself is inevitable - that much they both know.
He leaves the hare on the ground and sits down on a flat boulder. He props his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together. He watches her bustle around for a while, not saying a word. The longer she rummages through the pouches, the more she seems sullen and testy.
"Don't worry about the supplies. We have the essentials. Some coin, food, water. It's good for now. When we run out, I'll find a contract along the way," he says at last.
She stops scouring through another bag to look at him, straightens her back and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Her gaze is cautious and attentive.
"Along the way to where?" she asks.
"As far as possible. Far enough to make sure you don't see any familiar faces at a fair or a market."
"Where then?" She repeats harshly.
He scratches his stubbled cheek for a while, pondering the possibilities.
"West," he says at last. "To the sea."
She frowns skeptically at his words.
"To the sea?" She repeats, unconvinced.
He nods his head.
"Cidaris. Or Verden. The sea markets gather all kinds of folks from every part of the world. No stranger is unwelcomed there. The islanders are not afraid of foreigners. They're open and… progressive."
She lifts her brows a little and makes a face that says she's both intrigued and a little vexed.
"Use normal words, not the fancy ones, will you, witcher?" She snorts at him.
"Let's put it this way - no one there would care that there's no man with you. The islanders have different ways. Their women fight just as good as men, sometimes even better. They're independent. Now even more so, since Cerys an Craite has become the queen of Skellige."
The crease between her brows tells him that his words do not convince her. She's silent for a long while, staring at him thoughtfully.
"I know nothing of the big water. What trade would I find there?" She asks him sullenly at last.
He shrugs a little.
"The same one you found here. You don't need to go to the sea. There's game there too. You can hunt."
She stares at him quizzically, squinting her eyes. Then she looks over her shoulder at her son who plays sullenly with some sticks by the entrance to their cave. Her face is blank, but he knows she ponders and hesitates. What he's offered is strange and uncertain. She has a right to be scared.
He grunts a little. She budges, pulled back from her thoughts, and locks her eyes with his again.
"You need to trust me with this. You cannot stay here. In the south there's Nilfgaard. The borders are still unsteady after the war. These days it's easier to find a garrison on these lands than a welcoming inn. In the north it's Redania. Since the king's assassination it's been a smoking mess. What's left is Aedirn, but I suppose the dandy townsmen of Vengerberg would not be to your liking. The coast, then."
She purses her lips and sighs heavily. She clasps her hands and looks into the distance, lost in her thoughts. She's silent for a long while.
"Fine, witcher," she mumbles at last. "I don't have any better plan than that. How would I? I haven't seen the world outside that wretched village."
"I'll show you," he promises, standing up and offering her a hand. She's still staring at the open pouches with a frown on her face, so he grabs her elbow and mumbles quietly:
"Stop worrying. It's a fine stock."
She casts him a brief, disgruntled glance.
"It's not much. And it's a long way to that sea you're talking about, isn't it?"
He moves his hand to her arm and squeezes it lightly.
"It's enough."
"But…"
"I won't say it again. Come, let's eat something."
She watches him sullenly for a moment, shakes her head lightly and finally lets it pass. She tucks her hair away from her forehead and turns her eyes to the hare he brought. The smile that curves her lips is a little scornful.
"With this kind of game I doubt we'll get far."
Instead of responding to her taunting he pulls out a small knife and crouches to skin the hare. She slowly sits next to him. For some time she watches him work, quiet and lost in her thoughts. He's quiet too. When she finally speaks, her voice sounds raw, but he thinks he hears a tender note there too.
"I thought myself too old and haggard to let a man take me into the unknown."
Eskel glances at her over the carcass and sees that she smiles at him with a small, sour smile. He lifts his brows a little.
"You could actually stand for a maiden if not for that scowl of yours," he says calmly, wiping his knife into a rag. She shakes her head and for the first time this morning he hears her laugh. It's quiet and hoarse, but it's there. She looks for her son and gestures for him to come closer. Eskel, who is now busy with putting up a bonfire, follows her gaze and sees the kid crouched on the far end of the cave. He eyes the boy more cautiously. For a child that had to flee his home in the dark of night, run away on horseback and hide deep in the thicket from the violence and the fire, he seems surprisingly calm. He's pale, tired and sullen, but there are no tears. The only signs that something has hurt him are his rounded shoulders and the knees he's pulled up to his chin. He seems stiff and a little shaken. The witcher thinks that with that quiet, stubborn tension the kid clearly takes after his mother. She also seems to cry and shout inwards.
Summoned with his mother's gesture, the kid raises reluctantly and strides over to where they sit, looking back and forth between his mother and the witcher. His gaze is watery and mistrusting. He stops near them and sways his arms, now glaring intently at his own feet. He furrows his brow and pouts, as if he ponders something important. Finally he raises his head and asks:
"When are we coming back?"
His gaze is now fixed on his mother. There's an awaiting, sullen look to it. She stretches her arm to gently stroke his dark hair.
"We're not," she says, her voice calm and even. "We can't."
He grimaces and shakes his mother's arm off of him.
"Why not?" He asks louder and more intently than before. "I want to go home."
She leans over to him and covers his tiny clenched fists with her hands and clasps them tightly.
"Our old home is lost," she tells him, her voice gentle and patient. "We're gonna get a new one. Better."
The boy watches her with mistrust. He seems sullen and unconvinced. His eyes darken with fear and anger and then they widen with involuntary curiosity.
"Where?" He asks at last.
"Far away from here. We're gonna go on a long, long journey."
He gets quiet for a long while. Finally he raises his eyes to his mother and watches her with his brows furrowed in anticipation.
"Are we gonna have adventures?" He asks, his voice sullen, but still hopeful.
Wszebora smiles a little, casting Eskel a brief glance. He doesn't know what she is thinking about at that moment, but he likes the smile - it seems gentle and unforced. She pulls her son closer and into her lap, embraces him tightly with her arms and rests her chin on the top of his head.
"We are, kid," she murmurs quietly. "The witcher is coming with us, so there have to be adventures."
A large brown eye peeks at the witcher suspiciously over Wszebora's shoulder. The boy ponders her words for a long time before he says:
"Fine."
Eskel nods his head lightly and with a gentle flick of his wrist casts an Igni. In the damp shadow of the cave embers ignite and the small bonfire lights up with a flickering, dull flame. Eskel looks at Wszebora. The lines of her face seem smoother and gentler in the warm, orange light. Miron, still clinging to her like a small animal, stares into the fire in amazement. She seems calm, so the witcher feels at ease too.