-Velen, Crookback bog-

As he rummaged through the cottage, he knew that he had uttered the lie of his life just moments before. "I don't feel a thing anymore". Nothing could be farther from the truth. He felt an array of emotions. One thing all these emotions shared was the fact they've been locked away, even forgotten, for a very long time.

He clumsily looked underneath, inside and behind anything that could possibly hide what he sought. And there, just below the army of gutted hares hanging to cure, he saw a small chest. Almost in a blind fury, he grabbed it and tossed it on the straw-clad floor. His hands trembled. Was it panic? Why, yes, it was. For the longest seconds of his life, his heart almost siezed to beat until he noticed it lying there. The medallion.

He picked it up off the floor and held it, gazing at the head of a silver wolf baring its teeth at him. Vesemir's medallion. No, Ciri's medallion.

The world stood still. He was suddenly overcome with intense grief. So intense that he had to sit down to stay concious. He buried his face in his hands, still holding the one memento left of the girl that he deperately had tried to keep out of harm's way. The cool silver against his forehead felt like ice, a numbing pain. "I don't feel a thing anymore", he mouthed as a lone tear rolled down his cheek.

Then, oblivion claimed him.

She rarely came through the bog. Even so, she noticed at once that something was different. The feel of the place for sure, she concluded. It felt lighter. She didn't share the common practise around these parts, worshipping The Ladies. She belonged to another kind of faith.

She heard some rustling to her right. Just a riderless horse, she noticed, as she tried to make her grey gelding walk a bit slower whilst pulling the cart. Funny, how the bay mare looked. War-horse plates, and such a fancy saddle. Someone used to take very good care of her, she was not a horse for plowing fields.

As the shadows grew longer, she decided that now was not the time to think about masterless equines. She clicked her tongue to make the grey speed up. The gelding had probably taken a couple of strides in trot, when she heard something that wasn't the normal sound of a horse. It sounded like a person.

"Woo there", she whispered as she gave a light tug at the reins. When the gelding came to a stop, she climbed out of the cart, feeling slightly uneasy and intrigued at the same time. The feeling didn't subside when she saw a cottage that looked like it had been blown to bits. What had happened here?

She barely ended her train of thought, when she, underneath some rubble, saw a person. So that's where the sound came from.

At a first glance, she tought the man had expired during the time she was looking for him. She decided to do what she's always done in situations like this; make sure. Not that she often came across men half-buried men in the middle of nowhere. She pulled off some splintered logs off the man's body, and became even more intrigued. And definitely more uneasy.

The man lay on his back, with grotesque wounds on his body. His armour had been slashed, sliced and cut through on multiple places, and he had been bleeding profusely. The dry grass underneath him was not yellow anymore, it was black. Totally saturated with blood. She shook his head, for she knew that bleeding out was a terrible way to go, before one became unconcious.

She continued to study the man. His hair was white, but he didn't quite look the age. His beard too, was white, if your didn't focus on the caked blood all over his left side of his face. His lips was slightly parted, and she could see blood in his mouth. Around his neck, a medallion that looked like a wolf with its maw wide open. Funny, that.

He seemed to be gripping something. A vial? She bent down and unlodged the thin piece of glass and smelled its contents. Goldenrod, for sure. And also a bit of... yarrow? He had apparently tried to make the bleeding stop, since they both have strong coagulating properties. She sighed, such a waste. Of a life, as well of such knowledge.

"I'm sorry" she said. "You put up a fight, I can tell".

She knelt down beside the man. She felt his forehead, which was cold. She decided to, just for the hell of it, feel for a pulse. Nothing. Not so surprising. Absent-mindedly, she withdrew her hand and prepared herself to stand when she noticed fresh blood on her hand. She quickly ripped open the man's armour at the neck, and was taken aback when a thin pulsating stream of blood added to the already blackened ground. His mail had been keeping some kind of pressure on the gash. He was alive, but for how much longer?

Instinctively, she put both of her hands on the side of the man's neck. Pressure is key. She clawed after the vial she had left on the ground and swore when she noticed that the herbal mix wouldn't be enough. Biting hard on one of the arms of dress, she ripped it from her wrist to her armpit, and pulled hard to make it come off. With motions relying on muscle memory, she made a makeshift pressurised poultice. No time to waste, they had to get out of there. She ran back to the cart, grabbed the reins of the grey gelding and dragged him behind her until he lazily started to trot.

As she came up with a makeshift sledge, using the few tools and trinkets she had on the back of the cart together with some of the remnants of the cottage, a tought of doubt came across her. How will she be able to save this man? Considering the amount of blood he had lost, not to mention the wounds, he would probably pass away before she could properly take care of him. She shook her head as she tied the final knot that hopefully would keep the sledge connected to the back of her cart. No time for doubts, she told herself. Now, to get him on the bloody thing.

She was horribly surprised when he started to move.

He had experienced this before, no doubt of it. How he acted then, or rather lack thereof, had been torturing him ever since. Unresolved things had tht effect on him. Somewhere in his muddled mind, he knew that he had just the one chance to soothe the feelings that had been locked away for ages. He was not going to let the opportunity pass, not this time. And he was most certainly not going to be lulled into a magic induced sleep this time either.

Raising his arms took all the power he could muster, as he reached for her face. He apprently startled her, which kind of annoyed him, when his sudden moves resulted in him sliding her headscarf off her head. Red hair. Just like her. Because it was her. No doubt.

"I have longed for you. Ever since you mended me. My leg". He tried his best to focus on her face, trying to keep his hands close to her. Not letting her go. Trying to feel her cheeks. "I never said the things I wanted, asked you what I needed to know. About my name. About you. I never thought I needed you, but I did. I do. Please, stay with me".

She couldn't make out any of the words the man uttered. His lips barely moved, and she knew that any kind of activity that would exhaust him could be fatal. How come he still has some strength left in him, she tought as she tried to keep his pawing hands off her face. He had pulled her headscarf off, that she could live with. But she whinced when he started to reach for her cheeks, pulling on the piece of cloth she wore in front of her nose and mouth. He had to be calmed down.

What? Did he say "stay with me"? She took a firm hold of his wrists and as firmly as she dared to, pressed them down so his arms would lie alongside his body.

"I will, calm yourself" she said, once his arms were down and resting beside him. No struggle, no trying to reach her face. The effort must have rendered him unconcious. She eased her grip, just to make sure. No reaction. She let go of the man's wrists, and decided once again to make sure that he was still with her.

She carefully put her thumb on one of his eyelids and gently pulled it up. Just enough to peer underneath it to see any kind of ocular reaction. She saw his pupil reacting, ever so slightly, but... His eyes! They were yellow and bore the resemblance of a cat's.

"Well, witcher", she whispered in his ear whilst grabbing his shoulders, readying him to be rolled over to the sledge. "This is going to hurt".