[UPDATED: rewritten and one new scene added]

Ernest Hemingway: Chapter 3, Gors Velen

"I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?"

Their short stint in the cave made the storm a more welcoming sight than they'd have thought possible. Faint moonlight spilt into the cave, glimmering off the rain-soaked stones and trickles of water running further into the cave. It lit up the faces of the weary travellers, making them pale and gaunt. Geralt was holding Yennefer tightly against his chest, protecting her from the danger which had long since past because he was unwilling to let her go. The cave was still and quiet, the blocked entrance to the tunnels remained the only sign that something had gone amiss.

Outside the storm continued to scream and dance in the night, but its music fell upon death ears as the Witcher strained to hear sounds of life within his arms. He released a long and shaky breath when he found the steady rhythm of her heart pounding again his fingers. With his fears dulled and weakened, Geralt examined Yennefer's body carefully and with a delicate touch. There were a few small scratches and red marks on her face and arms, nothing all that bad, it was the blood which worried him. He could see a long cut above her left eye, and though it looked to be a shallow wound it poured blood down one side of her face and made her look deathly pale. There was also a lot of blood pooling on her chest and white blouse as her nose bled profusely. Geralt swallowed a lump in his throat. Little damage had been done to the Sorceress, though his own heart was heavy and weary from the night's event. Fate could well have played a cruller hand, but it seemed to look upon him with pity tonight and he welcomed it.

Someone whispered his name faintly behind him and he turned to look upon Priscilla. The young Bard was twirling a lock of hair around her finger and scraping her feet. "How…how is she?" she asked softly.

"Yens fine, but she's exhausted and needs rest," he replied kindly, trying to smile.

Priscilla opened and closed her mouth, gently shaking her head. He could see her hands shake as she picked up the furs beside their horses and lay a few out on the floor beside him. Geralt lifted Yennefer off the floor and placed her upon the makeshift bedding, propping a balled-up cloak under her head.

"Priscilla," said Geralt quietly, as she hovered over them, "you're okay, it's over."

"I…" she stammered, wringing her wrists and shuffling on the spot. She flinched when Dandelion placed a hand on her shoulder, stumbling as she turned around and flung herself into his arms. "I'm sorry, Dandelion, for what I said… If, if…" she whispered, the sound muffled by his doublet.

Dandelion held her shoulders tightly and Geralt heard a faint sob. He looked away, unsure what they were talking about. "It's okay," Dandelion murmured, "you were right."

The Bard led her away, giving the Witcher some space to work. Using the water skin and bandages Zoltan had thoughtfully brought him, Geralt began judiciously cleaning Yennefer's wounds and skin. After he had wiped away most of the blood and pain, the cut on her forehead and the scratches dotted around her body looked considerably less prominent. He felt reassured that things had initially looked far worse than they truly were and that he could breathe a little easier. Geralt applied a wet compress to Yennefer's forehead and covered the length of her body in the remaining furs until only her head was visible.

For a while he sat beside her, watching her chest rise and fall. His body was sore and weary but he didn't much care. The pain was dull and his injuries minor so he left them be and tried to ease the tightness gripping his chest. He finished off the rest of the skin, using the cold water to clean his bloody and scratched hands. They tingled and stung, the skin red and raw, but the sensation helped to keep his mind sharp for he could not afford to rest.

Geralt was in the middle of changing the compress on Yennefer's head when he felt the ground beneath his feet shake and rumble. His adrenaline spiked and he got to his feet, but his nerves were quickly calmed by what he saw. Bert was hobbling around in the cave, towering over a large tree trunk while water collected at his feet.

"Hummany magic, crackle glow," said the Troll, stamping on the wood. Then he looked at the Witcher and plodded over leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him. He looked down at Yennefer with an expression very unbecoming and otherworldly for a Troll. A mix of affection and concern. "Deadgone?"

"No," answered Geralt with a shake of his head. He tried to smile reassuringly at the Troll while considering which of them looked the most peculiar now. "She's just very tired, but she'll be fine. You did good Bert, thank you." The Troll smiled, or at least Geralt presumed that's what the horrifying grimace on his face was supposed to be resembling. He wandered off and started smashing the tree trunk into smaller pieces.

"To think that they call that bloody thing a monster," chuckled Zoltan as he finished fastening a bandage around his lower leg. "I've seen priests and street beggars more threatening than him."

"You wouldn't be saying that if you'd pissed him off," said Geralt, "not when he was throwing boulders at you."

"No, I probably wouldn't."

Though the travellers' bodies were drained and heavy, rest could not yet find them tonight as the face of death was all too fresh in memory. Using some of his Mahakaman spirits, Zoltan managed to get a fire going, much to the delight of the others. The soft glow of the flames helped to set their minds at ease and kindled a sense of comfort within their dreary souls.

While the others huddled close to the fire and heat the Witcher maintained his vigil. Although Yennefer's hands and face were raw and numb the rest of her skin was warm to the touch, buried beneath a mound of furs, and there was nothing much more he could do to make her comfortable.

Geralt knelt beside her and cleaned the cut on her head, now that the bleeding had stopped. She began to stir as he did so, moaning quietly and shifting onto her side. Raven locks tumbled over her shoulders and face, and Geralt swept them behind her ear without much thought and finished his task. Yennefer remained still and silent as he finished cleaning her face and he thought perhaps she'd risen from unconsciousness only to fall into the depths of sleep. But as the thought crossed his mind, the Witcher saw her eyes twitch beneath her lids and slowly they began to flicker.

He waited patiently on the floor beside her, fearing to speak and wake her prematurely when it was clear she needed rest. However, equally, to his pleasure and dismay, her eyes opened wide and she looked up at him from beneath long eyelashes. Yennefer said nothing at first, blinking slowly and rubbing her eyes with a frown plastered to her forehead. When she moved her head to the side Geralt heard her wince and she quickly screwed up her eyes and face before hiding them beneath a pale hand.

Geralt leant closer, his hair slipping over his shoulders. "Are you alright, Yen?" he asked quietly. It was a stupid question to ask for Yennefer rarely responded to such queries with a straight answer, that he knew all too well, yet he asked her all the same.

"My head is ringing louder than the most obnoxious church bell," she answered from behind her hand. Yennefer's statement, even though made partly in jest, did nothing to lessen the Witcher's concern and she seemed to sense that. Perhaps the silence had prompted her, he hoped it had and that the Sorceress was not straining herself to catch a glimpse of what was on his mind.

Yennefer's her hand fell away from her face and she placed it against his arm, wrapping her fingers around it. It was cold and pale. "I'm fine Geralt." He nodded in reply, not trusting himself to speak.

Over the years he'd spent amongst Mages and Scholars, Geralt had learnt much about the sacrifices magic required of those who wished to yield it. He'd seen it too, the toll it could take upon the body and things beyond it. He also knew how adept Yennefer was at concealing this cost, even from him. Thus, despite her reassurances, Geralt still brooded and in the silence, he took her hand in his own and rubbed her numb fingers. Yennefer sighed, closing her eyes and tilting back her head. He hoped his thoughts would draw no further comment from her. While she'd grown more tolerant of his worries over the years, Yennefer still seemed to possess the instinct to turn them aside and carry her own burdens, scorning other's concern. Perhaps that's one of the reasons he worried about her more than anyone.

"Geralt, would you be a dear and get me something to eat, please?" Yennefer asked a while later, looking at his face with glazed eyes and a distant stare. Geralt nodded and tucked her warm hand under the furs.

On his way to their saddlebags, the Witcher passed the fire and peered closely at his companions. Dandelion and Priscilla were wrapped up in a blanket together as they sat dangerously close to the naked flames. Zoltan, on the other hand, seemed unbothered by the cold and was digging into a chunk of bread and a bottle of vodka. He was sitting on the floor beside a rock which appeared to be snoring.

When Zoltan saw him, the dwarf held out the bottle but Geralt shook his head. "Thanks, but I need to get Yen something to eat." He started rummaging through their things, taking out a selection of food - bread, cheese, fruit - and another waterskin.

He returned to see Yennefer sitting up against the wall with her head tilted back as she rubbed her temples cursing. Geralt sat next to her and they picked at the food without a word between them. Yennefer ate very little, he noticed, and he watched her stare at the sealed tunnel at the back of the cave with her brow creased. He wondered what she was thinking and with nothing else to break the stillness or to preoccupy him, Geralt too began to think. It had been a peculiar night indeed, though he hadn't much time to examine it.

His questions were silenced when Yennefer closed her eyes with a yawn and rested her head on his shoulder. Geralt felt the cold emanating from her cheeks and when he believed that sleep had calmed her, he scooped Yennefer up, placing her on his lap. She half-opened her eyes, pursing her lips at him, but the expression slid from her face as he shifted some of the furs to press his body against her. He felt his own temperature drop as he shared his heat, and Yennefer's eyes slid shut without audible complaint.

The Witcher watched her blissful face as he wrapped his arms around her. Carefully, he tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and stroked her cheek, marvelling at the softness of it and the slight tingle it sent through his body. He placed a kiss on her forehead, inhaling her fragrance - the mix of her perfume and her body - to still his mind. Geralt soon fell asleep after her, chasing the woman of his dreams into the morning.

The sun carried a new day to the traveller's eerie cave and with it came clear skies and mild weather. The uprooted trees and damp grass glistened in the morning's rays. It streamed through the mouth of the cave, rousing Geralt from his slumber before he was ready, yet he did not bother trying to reclaim that which had just fled him. Instead, he looked at the woman still asleep in his arms. She'd slept all through the night, not once stirring, and he was glad. He himself had not been given such a luxury.

Reluctantly, he lay Yennefer to rest on the floor and strapped on his sword. He routinely checked his crossbow, which was emblazoned with his knightly suit of arms, and left the cave. Not long after, he returned with breakfast.

Something smelt good… It was the first lucid thought Yennefer registered when her consciousness was drawn within reach. Her stomach rumbled unbecomingly. As the smell awakened her senses she rubbed her eyes and the back of her neck. It took a while for her to notice that her bed for the night had left her on the floor of the cave, but she hadn't the time to appraise how she felt about it before he reappeared.

Cumbersomely, Yennefer raised herself up into a seated position and rearranged the furs sheltering her. The movement made her head throb and she closed her eyes until the pain dulled, opening them again to the sight of Geralt holding out a small leg of cooked rabbit. She accepted it and began nibbling away at the tender meat its steam heating her face. Yennefer didn't feel particularly peckish, however. In truth, she was a tad queasy and would have preferred to skip her morning meal, but Geralt's eyes were following her and she hadn't the strength to argue. Though she'd not admit so.

Much like last night, the ambience was subdued and it was to Yennefer's liking. Even if her head hadn't been beating against her skull, she'd still rather not have to deal with the Bard for a while. Instead, Yennefer enjoyed the comfortable silence between her and Geralt. It pleased her that he shared her sentiment for stillness and felt no obligation to fill the void with endless chatter. However, Geralt's mind was not so hushed. His thoughts were faint, whispers she could not make sense of. It would have been easy for her to amplify them, to listen closely, but she did not; only with unspoken invitation did she delve deeper into his mind. Nevertheless, she could not block them out completely.

"Geralt, what's wrong? I can hear you brooding despite my headache, and it's worsening it, in case you were curious."

Yennefer felt his worry spike following her words and he sighed. Geralt did not answer immediately and twirled the bone between his fingers without taking his eyes off her. "What happened last night, Yen?" he asked.

"That's a question, Geralt. I wanted an answer," she reprimanded, lips upturning into a half smile. Geralt did not respond to the gesture, instead, he broke eye contact and threw the bone across the cave.

He crossed his arms and watched it bounce across the stone. "My medallion didn't vibrate, Yen."

The Sorceress raised both eyebrows. "Mmmmm," she managed to murmur in reply, "well, in that case, my explanation for what happened now has a serious flaw."

Silence fell between them. Yennefer continued to take small bites of the rabbit without much enthusiasm. She was itching to simply get up and leave this damn place, but Geralt had suddenly lost his sense of urgency. His eyes kept flickering in her direction and she was fighting back the urge to snap at him.

"Something doesn't feel right, Yen," said the Witcher suddenly. He was clutching his medallion in one hand, running his fingers over its sharp fur and staring straight down. The sight unnerved her. "Somethings wrong…"

Yennefer observed him closely as Geralt's ambiguous statement hung in the air. Once, she would have simply dismissed it, but she'd learnt to trust in his instincts, even though at times it felt ridiculous to do so. She reached out to him, lightly running her hand over his jaw. "Then let us go, Geralt. Let us leave this place for Gors Velen, we'll be safer there."

Yennefer'sfingers traced their way down his shoulders and arm, coming to rest lightly upon his wrist. Geralt curled his fingers around her hand and followed her when she rose to her feet. They slid down to her waist as she dragged her arms above her head, stretching leisurely, and the Witcher kissed her collarbone when she pulled back her head. Yennefer stumbled, her head beating in protest against the sudden movement. Geralt pressed his hand into her back holding her upright, watching her closely as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Whatever he was about to say, Yennefer knew she didn't want to hear and silenced his words with a kiss.

"I'm fine, Geralt," she whispered, "let's go."

He wasn't convinced, far from it in fact, but knew from experience that in this case, it would be better not to voice his opinion. Geralt trailed after Yennefer as she stepped around the rocks which had provided them with shelter and privacy during the night, her high heels tapping loudly on the ground. He nodded towards Dandelion and Zoltan, who were saddling up the horses, and made himself busy with their saddlebags.

The newly light fire was already beginning to sputter, though Priscilla seemed unwilling to let go of the flames as she poked the dying embers. As Yennefer approached her, however, she lost interest in the task and the fire went to its grave in peace. Geralt chuckled gruffly as Yennefer's body when stiff in Priscilla's arms, the Bard almost pouncing on her. She hesitated for a moment and returned the gesture in kind.

"Thank you," murmured Priscilla, the sounded muffled in the Sorceress' wild hair, "thank you, Yennefer."

"Well, I could hardly let all my good work go to waste, could I?" she replied. Her voice carried its usual sharpness and clarity, but a small smile graced her features as she looked at the younger woman. Even with her unfathomably high heels, Yennefer only just reached the same height as Priscilla, whose shoes were flat.

The latter's eyes were shimmering as she stepped back. "Another thing I'll have to repay you for, someday." Her fingers traced over her neck, where the scaring had once been. Geralt doubted that anyone but a Witcher could see it now.

"I must also pay you some gratitude, Lady Yennefer, we owe you our lives," said Zoltan. Yennefer inclined her head.

"Yes, that was quite the impressive spell. Excellent material for a ballad, wouldn't you say?" Dandelion trilled, leaning against the side of the cave, his precious lute in hand. Geralt grunted, but his stare went largely unnoticed.

"Honestly, Dandelion, is that all you have to say?" shot Priscilla. He shrugged in reply but Geralt saw his face pale as she narrowed her eyes.

"Magic Elfie!" A large silhouette appeared in the entrance to the cave and it bumbled towards Yennefer. "Deadgone not, Bert bubblyrock."

Yennefer raised an eyebrow. It was strange to see her receiving so much praise and gratitude, but it was a scene Geralt welcomed fondly. Especially the part with the Troll. "Yes well, I'm fine now and I thank you for…uh, saving me."

He nodded his head madly and gave another horrifying smile. "Bert stone Elfie help."

"Then we're even now. It was a pleasure enjoying your…hospitality, but we must be leaving now. I suggest you find another cave, Bert."

By the time they were ready to leave, Geralt was still undecided about the about the journey which lay in wait. If they were to reach Gors Velen in time for the meeting a long day of rising was in store for them. Yet now his worry about arriving was overshadowed with questions about whether or not Yennefer would be able to cope with the travel. Questions he dared not voice to her.

The Witcher packed away their furs and water skins as Yennefer retreated to the back of the cave to change out of her bloodied top. It was peaceful, mostly, with only Dandelion's new lyrics competing with the sounds of the gentle breeze and chortling birds outside. The Bard was halfway through his third version of the chorus when Geralt felt his medallion vibrate. He hurried towards the back of the cave where Yennefer was standing with her back towards him.

"Yen," he reprimanded, watching as she traced her hands over the collapsed passageway. She ignored him. "Yen, I don't think-"

"If you keep interrupting me, Geralt," she snapped, jerking her head to the side and glaring at him, "this will take longer than it needs to."

Geralt frowned but didn't press her. He leant against the wall and watched her work her magic, alert for any tell-tale signs of fatigue. Yennefer kept shooting angry glances in his direction but didn't comment. They were at an impasse. Several minutes later his medallion stopped vibrating and Yennefer folded her arms. Geralt followed the Sorceress as she stalked away without a word, grabbing a black cloak and covering her head as she faffed around with her saddle. The Witcher had already checked everything, although he knew it would have been unwise to tell her, so he left her be.

"I'm not some fragile maiden, Geralt, so I'd advise you to stop treating me like one," Yennefer muttered under her breath, yanking on a pair of riding gloves.

Geralt could tell that she was troubled, thus her anger came as no surprise to him as it would to many. She was upset, that much was plain to him, and he could rightly guess why. They'd be travelling at her pace today and should anything happen on the road, there was little she could do to help.

"I couldn't ever think you were, Yen," he replied quietly.

"Then stop hovering over me," she spat, their toes practically touching as she got up in his face. Yennefer turned on her heels and mounted her black mare. He waited before trotting after her.

By midday, Gors Velen had still not graced the horizon, and Yennefer was still fuming silently. She kept ahead of him, hiding her face from Geralt with the hood of her cloak. He left her alone, but he was still worried.

"What happened last night, Geralt?" asked Dandelion, distracting him from the sight of Yennefer's back. "You don't think…the Lodge?"

Geralt shook his head. "No, I don't Dandelion. True, what happened wasn't normal, but no. I don't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I couldn't detect any magical trace," Yennefer interjected. She turned slightly in her saddle when she spoke, but her hair continued to obscure her features. "The Lodge doesn't have the knowledge to do something like that, not when it comes to a spell of that magnitude. Now, stop worrying about something you won't ever understand, and let us return to blissful silence." Geralt heard Dandelion huff, but for once he kept his mouth shut.

When Yennefer turned back to the front, Geralt was sure he saw her sway in the saddle. Though the others didn't comment, her pace had slowed considerably. If they wanted to make good time Yennefer needed to ride with someone else, but he knew that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Not unless Yennefer passed out again, a scenario which seemed a lot more probable. All in all, despite everything, despite their head start and brisk pace leaving Toussaint - they were going to be late. Late for their deadline, and late for the meeting. The Witcher kept his eyes on the sky for sightings of a rather foul looking bird.

Geralt had never in his life felt more relieved to pass through city gates as when they entered Gors Velen in the early hours of the night. The city was relatively empty and noiseless, the only sounds of this portside city were the chattering of merchants packing away their market stalls or the bustle of taverns and inns. The hooves of their horses clattered against the wet and puddle-laden cobblestone as they made their way deeper into the city. Their destination was a building named 'Brewery Inn' on the other side of the city, close to the bridge that led to Thanedd. Geralt hoped that the Lodge was still there, a thought which sounded strange in his head.

Not far into the city, the night air rustling their cloaks, the Witcher spotted a bad omen. An all too familiar grey owl came soaring into view over the rooftops, a little dull spec against the dark sky until it began to swoop towards them. It landed a few feet ahead of their horses, blocking their path. There was a poof of smoke and the equally formidable Philippa Eilhart loomed before them.

"Did I not make it crystal clear that the Lodge's patience for your antics, Yennefer, as run dry." The runes decorating the cloth over Philippa's dead eyes flared dangerously. Deliberately, she walked towards her fellow Sorceress, crimson lips twisted into a snarl. "I suppose you've lost touch with common sense in retirement, you and the Witcher, because the Lodge will not stand for any more disobedience from you."

Yennefer didn't bat an eyelid as they stared each other down - metaphorically. In fact, she looked bored. "The Lodge has never had any patience for me and my disobedience, and what exactly has come of that, hmmm? Leave the idle threats, Philippa, for someone foolish enough to believe them." She spurred her horse forwards forcing Philippa to move out of her way. "Let's proceed to the meeting place, I dare say it's past the Lodge's bedtime, so best not to delay."

Geralt cast a concerned look over his shoulder as he followed Yennefer. He saw Philippa transform back into an owl, eyes narrowed at the other Sorceress. She flexed her claws. The Witcher held his hand in the air, eyes fixed on the bird ready to trace a sign, but Philippa kept her distance as she flew away.

"She was an arrogant little shit even as an owl," said Zoltan once the fowl was out of sight. "Always ruffling her feathers and screaming. She only shut up when she got the runs."

Yennefer laughed.

"Yennefer! Geralt!"

After passing several more thoroughfares and inns, a call echoed down the vacated street. Jogging around the corner came a young woman with ashen hair.

"Oh, Ciri, look at you," beamed Yennefer, holding Ciri at arm's length and inspecting her head to toe. "You look beautiful, my child. It's good to see you again, and looking so well."

Mother and daughter embraced, Ciri smiling proudly at Geralt over her shoulder. While she might still not look like a typical Empress or even an aristocrat - with her leather pants and sword hanging from her back - she definitely didn't look like a Witcher anymore. Her thigh high boots were lined with soft fur; her white blouse decorated with beautiful but subtle golden embroidery; her unruly hair pinned up with a delicate golden clip and a small emerald hung around her neck.

"Good to see you Ciri," said Geralt, pulling her into a bear hug.

"Likewise, I've missed you," she replied, smiling at them. Then, Geralt saw her eyes move towards the gash on Yennefer's forehead and widen. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing, Ciri, we're fine," Yennefer reassured. She ran a hand through her hair, rearranging it to help partly cover the mark. "We just ran into a...complication."

"A complication that almost crushed us to death, we're lucky to have made it here," declared Dandelion melodramatically, making a wide gesture with his arms.

Ciri's eyes darted back to him and Yennefer. "What is he blathering on about?"

"Cave roof collapsed on us, after an earthquake… An unnatural one," said Geralt. Ciri looked at him, and Yennefer who nodded in agreement. "Come on, we can talk about this later, best not keep the Lodge waiting any longer."

As Yennefer turned towards her horse, Geralt stepped towards her intending to offer her a leg up. She saw it coming a mile away. "I can manage, Geralt," she hissed, pulling herself up without any help.

Geralt and Ciri exchanged a look. "Let me ride with you," Ciri offered, holding out a hand. Yennefer opened her mouth. "Please, Mother." She nodded and made room for her on the saddle. Ciri jumped up and lead the way.

A sign for 'Brewery Inn' fluttered above the double oak doors of a rather large building, the smell of fresh paint lingering around it. When they dismounted a handful of stable boys scurried over to them, taking their horses and belongings. As the figures faded into the distance, the small group entered the building.

A wave of warm, comforting heat enveloped him as Geralt stepped over the threshold. Numerous tables, benches and chairs were scattered around the open space, candles burning brightly in brackets and chandlers, filling the room with light. All of the faces occupying the space were familiar, some welcomingly so and others…not so much. Ermien and Queen Cerys an Craite were huddled in a corner talking amongst themselves and occasionally casting glances at their company. The latter's brother was talking animatedly with Vernon Roche and Ves over a mug of beer. Fringilla Vigo was sitting quietly in a seat beside the fireplace, sneering at the brash Skellige warrior. Triss Merigold and Margarita Laux-Antille - otherwise known as Rita - were chatting over a bottle of wine, which was nearly empty. Francesca Findabair the Daisy of the Valleys and the Queen of the Elves of Dol Blathanna was conversing in hushed whispers with Ida Emean aep Sivney in the corner furthest away from everyone else.

Once they were all inside the heavy door slammed shut and Philippa lingered beside them like a thundercloud. "Now you've finally decided to show up," she snarled at Yennefer, "let's get down to business. Some of us have important matters to attend to."

"What the hell happened to you lot!" Hjalmar bellowed across the room.

Geralt sighed.

Fire In The Heavens - Christopher John Brennan: Chapter 4, Fire

Fire in the heavens, and fire along the hills,

and fire made solid in the flinty stone,

thick-mass'd or scatter'd pebble, fire that fills

the breathless hour that lives in fire alone.

At long last, we've made it to the start of the meeting which was supposed to happen in chapter 1 and I'm beginning to realise how long this thing could potentially be! Yikes. I'm trying to think of a way of speeding up the story because otherwise, jeez this thing could be long enough to be a book. If you have any ideas please, please let me know, I mean unless you guys want this thing to be over 100 000 words because that's how it's looking to me 0.0 Why do I keep adding more and more things to the already enormous general plan I have! Someone send help.

Hope you guys enjoyed the latest chapter, a bit of respite after last time, enjoy it while it lasts… This week I'm not going to tell you to worry about slow updates because I've found my enjoyment for writing has genuinely increased my productivity revision wise (5hours of revision before 1400 for 4 days!) so hopefully, I should be able to update weekly, probably Sunday evening UK time.

Thank you for all the love and support guys, it means a lot to me. Until next time - Eileniessa xx