She screams as the huge, foaming wall of water hits her and her horse, dragging them under with incredible power, pressing the air from her lungs and carrying them away in its furiously whirling, dark current. She fights against it, fights to get to the surface, fights for air with all she has, desperately wanting to live, to survive, but she is not strong enough. Again and again, she inhales lungs full of the muddy water as she gasps for breath while her limbs grow heavy in the freezing cold. Then, there is no air left. She sinks, sinks, sinks as the world turns black around her.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
"Damn, Regis, she's not breathing!" Geralt curses under his breath, pale like a sheet at the sight of the lifeless body of the girl he and his comrade have just dragged from the flood more or less by her long, ash-blonde hair.
"I know," the higher vampire says, kneeling down next to Angoulême on the muddy riverbank. He will have to act quickly to save her - if it is not too late yet. Gently, he tilts her head backwards, pinches her nose shut and presses his lips onto her bluish ones. They feel far too cold. Hopefully just from the freezingly cold water.
"What're you doing?" Geralt asks, his eyes growing wide. He trusts Regis, would trust him with his life any time, but this looks - strange. He has not given up and intends to kiss their friend - no, their daughter - good-bye?
Regis does not answer but instead breathes into the girl's mouth. Once, twice, three times. Suddenly Angoulême stirs and starts to cough. Gods, she is alive! Geralt could hug and kiss the vampire, but Regis is too busy with the half-drowned teenager. He helps her into a sitting position, whispers soothing words into her ear and pats her back while, gasping for air and trembling in the pelting rain, she continues to cough up water.
Suddenly, she cocks her head and looks at Geralt with a grin. It is still a little shaky, but the typical mischievous sparkle has returned to Angoulême's eyes.
"You're not d-delivering a p-perfect body to the grave, you k-know, n'uncle," she chatters, batting her eyelashes at him.
"Fuck, you did scare the shit out of me, little rascal," Geralt says and grins back at her, a wave of relief flooding all his senses. Against better judgment, he allowed Angoulême to accompany him on his dangerous and foolhardy rescue mission. Being responsible for her death he could not bear.
"We need to get her to a dry place and warm her up or she might get seriously ill," Regis points out, as always the voice of reason, wisdom and scientific knowledge. He looks up at Geralt expectantly. The Witcher nods. He knows that Angoulême is in the best possible hands. All he can do to help is try to find a suitable shelter for them. And he will.
Determined, Geralt turns around, climbs up the steep, treacherous bank and toward the rocky outcrop on top of the little island. Not even a score minutes before this was just one small knoll in a chain of hills overlooking the broad valley with a nice, narrow, teeming-with-trout river meandering through it. Now there is not a river but a huge lake instead and the knolls have turned into more than a dozen isles. How very lucky that the three of them as well as Roach and Regis's mule Drakul have stranded on the very same island. A blessing in disguise. That leaves the question what has happened to Milva and Cahir. Geralt knows that Cahir is a strong swimmer, but he has no idea if Milva can swim at all. Hopefully, she can. Hopefully, the two of them are together on one of the other islands and safe.
When Geralt has almost reached the top of the hill, he curses under his breath. He cannot see that much in the rain and dusk will be falling soon, but with his keen Witcher eyes he is able to make out some vague landmarks in the distance. The sudden flood has carried them farther down than he expected. They will need two, maybe three days just to get back to where they have come from. If they find Milva and Cahir quickly, that is, and do not have to spend additional time searching for them. And provided that they still are in possession of their horses. If not, they will lose even more precious time - time Ciri and Yennefer might not have. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
At least the rock formation on the hill top is cavernous, as he expected, and it does not take Geralt long to find a cosy cave that is perfect for the three of them. It is even spacious enough for the horse and the mule. As fast as he can on the slippery ground, he sprints down the slope again to where his comrades are waiting.
Angoulême is still a little shaky and unsteady on her feet, so Geralt lifts her from the ground and into his arms in a bridal carry. The girl giggles and cuddles up against his broad chest. Everything is cold and wet, but like this he might be able to share a little of his body warmth with her. With long strides he makes his way back up the hill with Angoulême. Leading their two mounts by the reins, Regis follows his friend. They even find some birchwood on the way to start a fire inside their cave.
With the warmth from the campfire, the two animals' body heat and the three of them huddling close together around the fire, the comrades are soon warm again. Angoulême's lips have regained their fresh, red colour and she has stopped shivering. The girl looks tired, though, and she is unusually subdued. Perhaps this is what happens when you suddenly realise that your young life could have ended in today's deluge? Or is she worried about Milva and Cahir? The girl has grown especially fond of the archer on their long, long journey, it would be devastating for her if she lost her beloved 'auntie'. Even if she is not allowed to call Milva this.
"I'll go look for them now that you're safe and feeling better," Regis says, smiling through pursed lips. "But I'm sure Milva and Cahir are fine, you'll see, my girl. " He stands up and, with another encouraging smile, leaves the cave.
Without the higher vampire, their shelter suddenly feels far too empty. Geralt and Angoulême sit in silence for a while, watching the orange flames dancing in the fireplace and the shadows they cast moving about on the cave walls. It is cosy and nice and Angoulême's hair and clothes are almost dry already, as are the blankets and bedrolls they have spread out on the floor. Still, her mood is rather glum.
"Regis is right, you need not worry, Angoulême," Geralt says eventually, trying to sound more confident than he is himself. "Even if he cannot find them now in the dark and rain, he will come morning, I promise. And you try to get some sleep, now, I'll keep the fire going."
To his surprise, Angoulême does not protest. She stands up and grabs a blanket. However, she does not lie down on a bedroll but moves it closer to Geralt first. Then she stretches out on it with a big yawn and plants her head in the Witcher's lap.
"You've carried me over the threshold of our new home, so I'm your wife now and allowed to do that," she proclaims seriously.
"Hell, no, you little punk! That's not what this was about!" Geralt says, appalled. He definitely did not want to give Angoulême any ideas. It would be totally wrong, no matter how much experience the girl might already have in the sexual department, she is a minor and resembles his fucking daughter! He has never thought of Angoulême in such a way. Ever.
"Nailed you! I was just kidding," Angoulême snickers, then puts a hand over her mouth and cackles even louder. "Wupsy, not that 'nailed you', of course," she adds between two bouts of giggling, looking up at the Witcher with big, green eyes that sparkle with mischief.
"Shut up and sleep already, girl!" Geralt says, rolling his eyes. How quickly that little pixy can go from gloomy to frolicsome is quite baffling. Teenagers with their mood swings. And damn, soon, he will have two of the sort. At least he hopes he will.
Fortunately, Angoulême does what she is told this once and is fast asleep in Geralt's lap when Regis returns. Not with good news, but not with bad news either. Hopefully, the fact that the higher vampire has not spotted any sign of Milva and Cahir simply means that they, too, are huddled up in a cave together to escape from the rain and cold, not that they have perished in the flood.
As Regis does not need to sleep and Geralt does not want to risk waking up Angoulême, the two best friends sit together by the fire all night, sometimes talking, sometimes saying nothing, until the first rays of light announce a new dawn.
And with a new dawn comes new hope. The hope that they will find a way out of this sheer endless flood plain. That they will soon be reunited with their lost friends. That they will reach their destination in time to rescue Ciri and Yennefer. That their long, long way will finally come to a close. That this very long story will have a happily ever after ending.
Is all this too much to hope for? Perhaps. But it is what they deserve.
