"Time to get out or we'll all fall asleep in here," Vesemir says much later when the wine has been drunk, the food eaten and the astonishingly philosophical, animated conversation has died down almost completely. Vesemir must admit that their newest guest is, if not anything else, a great and interesting conversationalist. During the course of the last two hours or so, he has learned more about the higher vampire family with all its subspecies plus their lower relatives than in decades of studying lore. No wonder, Geralt has taken a shine to him. Cahir, on the other hand, has remained conspicuously quiet all evening. Is he just exhausted from his first solo hunt or is there more to his silence? The old Witcher throws him a sideways glance. The young man looks tired indeed but better than when he arrived, unusually relaxed even. Maybe he is just overprotective and imagining things?

To set a good example for his companions, Vesemir starts to climb out of the natural rock basin.

"Very true, my friend, if I my address you as such." Regis smiles at the old Witcher through pursed lips. Showing his vampire teeth just shortly after he met the legendary head of the Wolf School for the first time might not be too good an idea. It is astonishing enough that he was allowed into Kaer Morhen at all, even right inside its no less legendary hot springs. "This is a remarkable place and I'm highly honoured to have been invited in here, but it is probably a little wet for humans to sleep in. Come, Cahir," he turns to his barely semi-awake friend, "looks like it's high time to get you to bed after your adventure. However, I need to check on your injuries first."

"I've told you it's nothing," Cahir mumbles sleepily, not opening his eyes. How glorious, now there is not only one old man fussing about him, but two. And it really is nothing serious this time, not physically.

"Let me be the judge of that, son," Regis objects. "You were limping and I could smell blood on you."

"There were glass shards all over the floor. Some minor, superficial cuts and a few bruises, that's it, not worth the bother, really."

"Cahir, I've seen healthy men wither away from minor cuts that got infected. You don't want that to happen to you, do you?"

Cahir shakes his head and sighs. Of course, he does not. But the water of the hot springs feels so nice after the doppler incident. The prospect of getting out, on the other hand, does not, not at all. Moreover, he is fully able to deal with those little cuts by himself. He might have lost most of his memory, but he is not a baby and not as stupid as they might think he is. After the long hot bath, the cuts should be thoroughly cleansed and heal easily, even without a barber-surgeon's care. Well, some salves might speed up the healing process a bit and if Regis insists and it makes him happy, he can do him the favour, if he must. Although he does not remember any of it, somehow, and quite ionically so, the higher vampire has felt safe, like family from the start. It will not hurt to comply, he suspects, at least not too much. Slowly and with a heartfelt sigh, Cahir blinks his eyes open and grabs the towel Geralt is holding out to him.

"Regis is right, you know, as always," Geralt says, grabbing a towel himself and leaving the comfort of the warm water. "And I want to hear what happened, Cahir. I'm sure you did well, but Vesemir and I might still have the one or other piece of useful advice for you."

"Yeah, like not to take my boots off no matter how mud-covered they are, and not to leave my silver sword in the hall when the harmlessly-looking, middle-aged woman I just saved from drowning in a swamp invites me for dinner into her house. Not to forget never to trust a rug that covers the floor because there might be a trapdoor hidden underneath it. I've already figured that out. And believe me, I won't make these mistakes again. Ever."

"The woman was a monster, then?" Geralt asks, raising his eyebrows. Cahir nods. "What kind of monster?"

"A doppler."

That is strange. All three of his friends give Cahir a puzzled look. Everybody knows that dopplers are peaceful and harmless creatures. Unless attacked, then they can be formidable foes, but why would Cahir provoke one? This does not make any sense.

"You must be mistaken," Geralt starts but Regis interrupts his friend.

"Cahir can tell us all about this strange doppler anomaly while I take care of those superficial cuts. Come, son, sit down on the bench over there," he then addresses Cahir while getting out of the water mother-naked, obviously not disturbed by the fact in the slightest. Naturally, the vampire would not be affected by the rather chilly air in the cave. He might not even need to dry himself off. Very much in contrast to his one merely human companion. With yet another sigh and a grunt, Cahir climbs the steps hewn into the rock to get out of the basin, quickly covering himself against the chill with the big, rather scratchy towel. He limps over to the bench and flops down on it.

With an expert eye that sees even the tiniest detail despite the semi-darkness of the cave, Regis, now dressed in a greyish nightgown, examines his young friend from head to toe. To his relief, Cahir is right, there do not seem to be any serious injuries. From the looks of it, things could easily have gone wrong, though.

"You were really lucky, son. If this cut on your neck had been just a little deeper, I fear, you wouldn't be sitting here right now," he says, taking a big jar and fresh bandages from his bag. He spreads some salve from the jar on the injury. Fortunately, it is only a scratch and does not need to be dressed. The many cuts on Cahir's hands and forearms are dealt with quickly, too. They must have hurt quite a bit, but none of them is deep, nothing to worry about.

"Now, those bruises you mentioned. Where are they? Let me see."

Cahir turns his back toward the higher vampire and lets the towel slip down a bit. Regis draws in a sharp breath.

"Boy, you're all black and blue! Did the whole house fall on top of you?"

"Just a wooden shelf and those glass jars with the doppler's trophies."

"What trophies?" Geralt asks. He knows that some monsters like to keep souvenirs of their victims, pieces of clothing, jewellery, hair, sometimes bones. But in glass jars? This sounds extremely eery. And disgusting. It would explain the strange alcoholic smell on Cahir's clothes, though.

"You really don't want to know," Cahir mutters darkly, shuddering at the memory of the many jars with floating, severed body parts and eyeballs.

Geralt lets it go, he can easily imagine what kind of trophies anyway. Damn, judging from his friend's bruises, it must have been a pretty big shelf. Which means many human victims.

"Did you kill the doppler?"

"Yes."

"Good." Geralt sighs with relief. One monster less in the world. Or even two? "What about your contract?"

"A bane. It's gone, too." Another scary memory, but one with a happy ending for once. However, not for Cahir's purse. "I didn't make any coin, though, sorry. The villagers didn't have any. Their whole harvest went to shit because of the monster, lots of their cattle died. Not to mention the children."

"Don't worry about the coin, we'll manage," Vesemir says warmly. "A bane and a doppler within just a few days. You might become a real Witcher yet, son. I'm proud of you, Cahir."

"And now lie down so I can treat those bruises or you won't be able to sleep even for a minute, nor move much come tomorrow morning," Regis orders. Cahir complies with a grunt. In the warm water he hardly felt it but now the stiffness and dull pain is coming back, as well as the headache. Lying down is a good idea, only he doubts that he will be able to get up again, let alone climb up all those stairs. Better not think of it yet. He closes his eyes. Soon, he can feel Regis's hands on his back, carefully probing his ribcage for possible fractures. It hurts, but not badly so.

"You were very fortunate, Cahir, no broken bones," he says with a smile after a thorough examination. "That shelf could easily have smashed your spine or cracked a couple of ribs. Looks like you had more luck than brains."

Cahir doubts very much that meeting this particular doppler was lucky at all, but he cannot tell his friends any of that. If Vesemir knew what he did in that bakery, he would strongly regret what he has just said about being proud of him, take it back and kick him out of here without as much as batting an eye. Cahir feels horribly guilty about keeping this secret, however, he is not ready to face the consequences, no, not yet. Feeling Regis's hands gently rubbing salve into his bruised skin does not help with his bad conscience, either. Although it hurts, it feels strangely relaxing at the same time, soothing. And is over all too quickly.

"Now your feet. Let me see why you were limping," the barber-surgeon orders. Before Cahir can say anything, Regis has already bent down to have closer look.

"Oh my, did you really think it was a good idea to walk on those feet?" he asks, furrowing his brow. "They're riddled with glass splinters!"

"Didn't have another pair at hand," Cahir mutters. "I was riding most of the time anyways."

"I'm sorry, but this might sting a little," Regis warns, rummaging in his bag and producing a pair of pincers. Then he sets himself to work. As carefully as possible, he grips one splinter after the other with the pincers and removes them. Most of the shards are so tiny that they are hard to see but others are almost size of a finger nail. The skin being softened from the long, hot bath helps considerably, but some of the splinters are embedded deeply in Cahir's flesh. It does sting, and not just a little. Cahir sucks in a sharp breath, feeling fresh blood trickle from the cuts. He should have tried to remove the splinters right away with the help of his knife, however, he was too tired and dazed and numb from what had happened then, probably concussed, too. So he did not. Perhaps it was a good idea to let Regis have a look after all. This is far from pleasant but doing it by himself would not be any better, the contrary. At least, like this, he does not need to do anything except lie there and heave a moan from time to time while the barber-surgeon is doing the rest, and doing it thoroughly. Very thoroughly. It takes quite a while until the last glass splinter has been removed and discarded of. Regis gently wipes the blood away, lavishly applies his special healing salve and then dresses both Cahir's feet in fresh bandages.

"Done. Do you think you'll be able to walk, son?"

"Mmh." Cahir would much rather just fall asleep here as he is but he is already feeling pretty cold despite the towel and starting to shiver. He better get a grip and get up and into his bed. Not that the rooms at Kaer Morhen are very comfortable but this time of the year they are not cold and there are plenty of warm blankets. After everything, Vesemir will surely let him sleep in. Regis will probably order him to take it easy for a few days and just sit by the fireplace with his feet propped up on a chair so all the cuts can heal while he will read a book or two on monsters and how to kill them. Maybe, if it stops raining, he will be allowed to relax outside on one of the benches in the courtyard, too. A few days of rest after the recent hunts do sound good. And then there will be more monsters, more chances for him to help save people, to make up a little for the atrocities he committed in the past. Even though it will never be enough, it is something. Perhaps even something to be proud of.

With a groan, Cahir sits up and gets onto his feet. Every step hurts, still, he has had worse. The stairs seem to be endless, however, not being a baby, he manages to walk to his room on his own. Bone-weary he collapses into bed. With the last shreds of conscience Cahir just so notices Vesemir and Regis coming in after him. Of course, they would. If he were not far too tired, Cahir would roll his eyes at the two old men behaving like a pair of mother hens. It feels nice, though, to have Vesemir tuck the blankets tightly around him and, like from afar, hear Regis tell him to sleep tight and not let the bedbugs bite. Then he is fast asleep, secure in the knowledge that his friends, his found family, will also be there tomorrow.