The one with the magic mud

When they went to bed that night, he could hear Kit tossing in her bed above him. He had already noticed that, when it came to keeping negative emotions in check, she rivaled any witcher. At least as long as someone was watching. Now that she was alone and probably not aware of the clairaudience of the building, it became obvious that she was not at all at peace with the situation. And how could she be? Geralt admired her – she possessed no special powers, likely did not know how this world worked and yet, she did not despair. He could not think of anyone else who would have taken things this well. What would happen once she fully realized the predicament she was in? She still believed everything was a game but the façade was crumbling. Geralt did not know what it would take to convince her but something would happen, he was sure of it.

Things changed much sooner than he would have expected.

It was during their breakfast a few days later that a farmhand stormed into the dining room and interrupted them. At a nearby vineyard a monster had attacked a worker who, while mildly hurt, was able to lure the creature into a rotten shed where it was going on a rampage now. A witcher was urgently needed before more people came to harm as he was sure the old structure would not contain the beast for long.

Geralt stormed off to grab a sword while he beckoned Kit to stay put and wait for him to return. The women in Geralt's life had always been quite stubborn and, it turned out, Kit was not making an exception.

"You absolutely cannot come with me, this is very dangerous!" he said more aggressively than he had intended to.

"But I have to! What's the point of this adventure holiday if I miss out on the best part? Or are you afraid it's going to break the illusion when I see that there is no real monster?" she answered back with a big grin on her face, already sitting on Roach's back. The fact alone that sat on the horse without him holding the reins told him that resistance was futile. He cursed, jumped into the saddle just behind Kit, and grabbed the reins from under her arms. Maybe that silly woman would at least regret coming with him once she experienced how bumpy a ride in a full-on gallop could be, he thought grumpily.

Roach carried them swiftly and it did not take them long to arrive at their destination. Geralt had been hearing the furious screams and roars of, he guessed, a ghoul from far away. He found the old shed quickly, jumped off and approached the shaking hut. On Geralt's command, the wounded worker removed the broomstick, which had served as a lock for the door, and then went off running into a safe distance. The moment Geralt entered, the foul odor made him wrinkle his nose while the ghoul screamed and jumped at him. Geralt avoided him by a hairbreadth, spun around with his sword in hand, managing to strike it once in the side. Unfortunately, the wound he inflicted was not deep enough to stop the ghoul but rather made it bolt through the open door. Geralt was quick to catch up with it when it turned around just outside the shed for another attack. Again, Geralt evaded the sharp claws, spun around and slashed. He usually aimed for arteries or vital organs but ghouls were problematic when it came to that since they were built in a way that any of these parts were difficult to reach if you were not lying beneath the monster. And if you happened to end up there, then you were most likely already dead.

Geralt moved fast and used the acceleration of another pirouette to strike again. The ghoul howled in anger but was not ready to give up yet. It hissed and jumped, while Geralt evaded with ease and grace, again and again. Another jump, another spin, another strike. This time however, his foot landed on the floor at a slight angle which triggered his old wound: Hot pain shot through his foot and knee and rendered his leg immobile for a split second. The pain made it impossible for him to duck aside in time for the next attack, forcing him to confront the ghoul head-on. When the beast bared its underside to the witcher in preparation for a last, deadly jump, Geralt speared it on his sword right through the heart. Unfortunately, as if to protest its demise at the witcher's hands, the monster lashed out and buried its claws in Geralt's right shoulder – before it crumbled to the ground lifelessly. Geralt dropped the sword and tried to immediately put pressure on the wound with both hands, hissing in pain. But the blood began to seep through his hands nevertheless. While it was not a deadly wound or the worst one that had ever been inflicted on him, it was painful and the loss of so much blood was not easy to handle, even for a witcher.

"Geralt!" Kit's voice was shrill with panic. She had ridden close to him and tumbled from Roach's back.

"There is a brown crucible in the left saddlebag. Grab it, quickly!" he instructed her. "Now open it, take out half a hand full and put it on the wound the moment I take off my hands. Do you understand?" She nodded. Her heartrate indicated that she was about to lose it but as always, she did not look like it. Her hands were shaking a little and the micro movements of her eyes were slightly wilder than they would usually be, but other than that she managed to keep her calm.

Geralt let go and Kit pushed the dark brown, cakey mass onto his shoulder, her whole body suddenly trembling lightly. It burned just as much as the initial slash of the claws had but he knew the pain was going to subside very soon. This paste, that amongst other things contained mandrake, was a gift from Regis. The old bat visited occasionally and regularly introduced one or the other medical discovery which he had made to Geralt. His favorite component from medicine to alcohol was mandrake, for reasons only Regis was aware of.

This paste was going to help the blood coagulate quickly while simultaneously disinfecting the wound. Even though the gashes were deep, they would not require stitches but were going to grow together without any further assistance. All thanks to Regis' 'wonder mud' as Geralt liked to call it.

"Geralt," Kit's words were hardly audible, "are you going to be okay?" She was not crying yet but he saw how those blue eyes got watery. Her hands were still pressing on the wound. Geralt removed them gently with his unharmed left.

"It's okay, you can let go now." He even mustered a smile to try to reassure her.

He grabbed the handle of his sword with his left hand, his right arm dangling somewhat uselessly next to him. The muscle was hurt, he assessed, it would be a while before it healed properly. With a slurping sound that made Kit twitch, he removed the sword from the disgusting smelling carcass.

"Do you believe me now?" he asked while he unsuccessfully tried to stash the sword, sullied with black sticky liquids, away into the saddlebags using just one hand. He cursed himself for not having put on at least some light armor. That would have taken time though, time he did not have as he knew exactly what would have happened had he been too late. Considering the state of things, he would rather have his body take some damage than his reputation and, as a consequence, Corvo Bianco. Geralt the witcher had always been able to walk away from a botched job. But Geralt the landowner did not have this option.

Besides, one monster was usually child's play to him. The reliability of his knee was an entirely different matter though. It had not caused him much trouble in the past few months leading him to ignore this minor disability of his and letting it could his judgement.

Kit, who until that moment had still been kneeling on the ground, got up, took the sword from his hand and tucked it into the flap beneath the saddle where it belonged. Her hands were shaking a little less now.

She looked at him, her face full of worry. "It's real. It's all real. That… monster. There is no way to fake this. Hell, I can even smell the iron in your blood… Is it always like this?"

Geralt was not sure what she was referring to. "Usually I'm a tad more graceful and don't get skewered like that." He mounted Roach with difficulty. "I really need a bath, let's go."

"Are you sure you're okay? You are walking away from this like you only got scratched. How is that possible?" She shook her head in disbelief.

"Mostly the mutations, a little bit of experience helps. And now let's go before the adrenaline wears off." And the pain hits me like another horde of ghouls – he finished the sentence in his mind.

Kit stared at him, thoroughly confused, obviously still trying to process what had just happened. She did not even seem to realize that her hands were covered in dirt and blood.

Reaching Corvo Bianco Geralt ordered the first maid he saw to draw a bath while Kit helped him to take care of Roach.

"Don't you want to sit down? I can do this myself. I know how to brush a horse."

Before Geralt could answer Kit had already taken the brush from his hands and continued: "God, I don't understand how you are still standing. Why does it look like I'm more shocked than you are?"

Geralt leaned against Roach's neck, hugging the horse with his unharmed arm. At least he hoped that that was what it looked like. He felt weak and held onto Roach to stabilize himself. He refused to sit down as he was not certain whether or not he would be able to get up on his own.

"Witchers have a higher tolerance for pain. We heal better and faster than normal people too. And, like I said, I've been through this and worse numerous times. It's not that bad." That was a lie but there was no point in upsetting her. A crying, hysteric woman was the last thing he needed. He used his supposed lack of emotion and tried his best not to let on in how much pain he was. He could not stop himself from shaking though. One side-effect of Regis' formula was the cold which had started to creep though his entire body. Geralt knew it all too well and did not like it one bit. It was eerily similar to the sensation of stepping through a magic portal, something that he despised doing. But the cold meant it was working, that things were already starting to heal.

It was Barnabas-Basil who informed them that the bath was ready. The majordomo was as usually unfazed despite his master's disheveled looks. He knew the drill and had already prepared bandages and various ointments to be applied after Geralt had washed off.

They returned to the house. A big wooden tub was located in an alcove right next to the dining area. The alcove had previously housed just another smaller dining table but due to Geralt's love for bathing had been sectioned off with a room divider and had been turned into a permanent bath.

Geralt began to assess the damage looking at his pale reflection in the mirror. The right side of his neck, face and hair had been doused in blood as well. It was always such a bother to remove half-dried blood from his hair. It was about time for a beard trim as well, he thought when scrutinizing the looks of the tired man in the mirror.

"Uh, you know what, I'm gonna sit over there," Kit pointed to an undefined area behind the divider, "and read a book. Let me know if you need some help… or something."

Geralt just gave a little grunt because he was afraid he would let out some ungodly scream if he opened this mouth now while trying to peel the blood-soaked shreds of his shirt from his body. He discarded the rest of his clothing on the floor and cast igni to heat up the water in the tub.

He lowered himself carefully, paying attention not to sink in too deep. He wanted Regis' formula to stay on just a moment longer. The water warmed him up quite nicely and he began to relax as far as the pain would allow him to.

Geralt gave himself some time before he grabbed a piece of soap from a little table right next to the tub. Using his right arm as little as possible he tried to create some soap suds but the soap turned out to be unwilling to cooperate and jumped out of his hand, hitting the floor with a soft, wet thud. Geralt groaned, annoyed at the fact that the soap chose this particular moment to practice civil disobedience.

Kit cautiously poked her head around the room divider. "Need help?" He could see her still worried face in the mirror on the wall ahead of him.

"Would you mind helping me wash my hair? It's a little difficult with just one hand." Asking for help was not what he usually did but he had already resigned himself to the fact that his arm would be mostly useless for a few days.

She hesitated for a moment but then got up and grabbed the rebellious piece of soap. After a short look around, Kit opted for a milking stool like chair and placed it behind Geralt. She dipped the soap into the water and rubbed it between her hands to then spread the foam on Geralt's hair. Geralt watched her every movement intently in the mirror until her delicate fingers touched his scalp for the first time and his brain short-circuited for a brief moment. Geralt closed his eyes and gave in to the blackness, feeling his body slacken bit by bit under her touch.

Kit moved her fingers in a circular motion over his head, massaging the soap into the roots of his hair using just the right amount of pressure. It took Geralt all he had not to let out a moan of pleasure. He felt a degree of warmth and relaxation that he had not known before. He imagined that his body must be melting and he found it difficult not to slip deeper into the water. It was like the pain had never even existed. All there was, was pleasure, relaxation and a weird but pleasant tingle wherever she touched him. He felt incredibly light, like nothing would ever able to drag him down again.

He wanted to protest when her hands left him to grab a little wooden bowl which she filled with water so she could rinse his hair. He was, however, appeased when one hand returned and shielded his eyes from the water as she carefully poured the contents of the bowl over his head.

She once again distributed the soap on his head – dried blood was tricky, he knew that and for once was thankful that it was so difficult to remove. She massaged and rubbed carefully but determined, expanding to his ears and neck. Nervous energy charged through Geralt and this time he did not have the self-restraint to stifle a moan. Kit withdrew her hands immediately.

"I'm so sorry, did I hurt you?" Her shocked face reflected in the mirror.

"No, you didn't, don't worry," Geralt replied with a hoarse voice, trying his best to pretend that he was still in control of his body. His left hand felt for the muddy crust on his other shoulder. "I think this can go now. It should be fine." Kit nodded and finally her hands resumed their task. He bit his lip when she rubbed over the sensitive spot behind his ear and shuddered when she reached the base of his skull. He could not remember any time in his life he had been treated like this. A woman's caress had always been pure bliss to him but this was new. There was nothing matching the intensity he was experiencing at that very moment. He had been banged up and stitched together many times. He had been bathed repeatedly before being allowed to face whatever noble wanted to hire him. He had paid women to lie with him. And he had, though rarely, experienced love. But nothing had ever felt like this. Kit's hands radiated a warmth that spread though his entire body. His nerves seemed to overcharge with pleasure whenever she dug the tips of her fingers into his skin with an exquisite amount of pressure. Geralt wished she would never stop.

Bit by bit and much too fast in his opinion, she chipped away at the crust, that Regis' formula had dried into. He could feel how she carefully used her nails to remove pieces and then rinsed the area with water. Again and again, until there was nothing left to remove.

"Whatever this stuff is, I'm impressed. It looks like you barely got scratched. Actually…" She paused. Geralt saw her lower her head and inspect his shoulder in detail. "I must be tired or something. It looks like this wound is healing right before my eyes." She blinked furiously. "I swear I can see it heal. Is that normal for your kind? You said you heal faster but this is impressive!" Her fingers stroked his wet skin from neck to shoulder and back, feeling along the neck muscle. And only then did Geralt realize that he, in fact, was not in pain anymore. He sat up straight and craned his neck to inspect his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that… there was nothing. All of a sudden, his senses, previously dulled and muted in the bath, came back to him. In a swift motion he jumped out of the tub to examine his wound in the mirror. Or rather the lack thereof. Only three thin markings, barely scratches, were visible. And just like Kit had said – they seemed to disappear right in front of his eyes. No, that was not normal, not even for a witcher. Not even for a witcher with access to Regis' genius products. He was able to move his arm freely and without pain. However this healing had happened, it was not just superficial. Geralt wondered if Regis had possibly adjusted the formula to make it even more efficient but had neglected to inform the witcher about the change. He was going to have to ask whenever the politest vampire on the continent visited again, Geralt thought.

He turned around to give Kit an answer but noticed that she had hid behind the screen again. Considering, as he realized then, that he was still naked and also half aroused, maybe it was better this way.

Rather confused he returned to his beloved tub just to realize that it was not anywhere as comfortable now as it had been a few minutes ago. Deflated in several ways he got out again shortly after and wrapped a towel around his waist. Someone was going to pick up his dirty clothes, wash and mend them. He had no idea who did it but as a rule of thumb they would magically appear in his bedroom after a few days. Toussaint worked in its own mysterious ways.

He cleared his throat when he left the alcove and looked at Kit who stared down the book in her hands very intensely, her cheeks slightly blushed.

"Do you always read books upside down where you come from?" he asked with a crooked smile. With the pain gone he was in a much better mood.

"Yes, always." She deadpanned. "It's for the more sophisticated of us. Those who acknowledge societal conventions and don't just jump around naked in front of strangers." Her cheeks became a little pinker.

"I apologize for that. But just for the record," Geralt felt like he was owed some cheekiness, "there are women out there who'd envy you for this."

She lifted her head to look at him, obviously ready to toss out some quick remark, but her gaze got stuck halfway and she closed her mouth. Geralt knew this look all too well. It was always a variation of the same bouquet of emotions – the shock, the horror or the disgust. He was covered in scars and not all of them had healed well. The joy about his spontaneous healing was all but forgotten.

Sad blue eyes found his. "Have you ever considered not to be a witcher anymore? I think it would do great things for your life expectancy." She tried to be funny but her voice betrayed her.

"Actually, I have. I've probably renounced my profession about ten times now. But what can I do? It always finds me."

"You need to hide better."

"Maybe it's destiny. It has always had a way of finding me." He shrugged.

Kit kept staring at him, tears in her eyes. She probably considers me absolutely disgusting, Geralt thought.

"I'm sorry for what you must have been through. I truly am." A single tear rolled down her cheek.

Geralt was surprised and did not know what to say. He could not recall any moment in his life when a stranger had shown this much empathy towards him. But maybe they were not strangers anymore. They had talked a lot about their lives even though he was sure that she had as little a complete picture of him as he had of her and her world.

He felt a lot closer to her than he reasonably should in that short amount of time. Now he was scared that he had lost her, had driven her away with the ugly marks of his profession.

Kit got up. She was visibly shaken. Not taking things too well after all, Geralt noticed.

"I'm sorry, I need…" She did not finish the sentence but walked past him, evading him when he tried to reach out for her in an effort to provide a comforting gesture. She did not even glance at him as she dashed through the door.

They did not speak for the rest of the day. Geralt observed how Kit walked in circles around Corvo Bianco, occasionally stood at the stables or sat in the straw next to Roach. Sometimes she disappeared to elsewhere. She did not return until the evening and Geralt did not try to approach her. The fact that she apparently was so repelled by his true form saddened him greatly and made him think it was unlikely that he would be able to do anything to console her. He did not hold it against her, though. It was worse for her than it was for him, he reminded himself.

Marlene had put an extra effort into creating the dishes for dinner as she always did whenever she got word that Geralt had had a rough day. Kit, though, hardly ate anything, did not speak at all.

She excused herself and went to bed. This night Geralt could hear her cry and sob. He wanted to go upstairs and console her but he did not know how.

Well after midnight he heard light footsteps descending down the stairs. A moment later the door to the outside opened and closed again.

For one horrible moment Geralt thought she might run away, finally. As disgusted by him, his scars and his nature as she should be. But he then heard her continuous sniffing. After a few minutes the sniffing turned into a hiccup.

He could not bear to just listen any longer and got out of bed.