The mule, he later learned, as Ellwyn rode it side saddle and he lead it down dirt road, was named Daisy. He learned many things during the trip whether he truly asked for it or not. Swaying slightly with Daisy?s meandering gait, Ellwyn, as she had so informed him earlier when he was more than eager to put hands round her waist and help her up?had not stopped talking since the trip started.

Geralt set his jaw and stared forlornly forward down road, muddied by sudden warmth and thawed ice. The mule was not to be guided; he?d tried that earlier much to the amusement of Ellwyn and the staunch digging in of hooves by Daisy. It turned out, however, he did not need to steer the mule away from deep carriage furrows in the road and all was relatively peaceful if noisy, thanks to Ellywn?s completely nonstop commentary. She spoke on anything and everything with little shame, from men, her father?s stubbornness, and the extremely horrid price hike in winter vegetables in addition to how she really hadn?t planned on being a single mother you know, just how things turned out there, where people came and went as changeable as the seasons.

?He really wasn?t a bad man, mind you, this Alrric,? Ellwyn nattered on as the carriage marks in the road soon gave way to old hoof prints, marking the change from well traveled road to barely used. Further and further away from the sounds, smells of the city proper and into the unknown of pine surrounded wintering forest. ?He paid his dues to the child when he could an? visited me often, bringing me a bit of food, coin an? story of his travels when he could.

?Then one day, he up and stopped coming round. Nary a word from the watch or his friends, not a thing.? Ellwyn sighed. Daisy snorted.

Geralt agreed, silently, with Daisy.

?Poor boy, he thinks his Da went the way of craven when it came to him and no doubt ran off with some other lass.? Geralt, of course, though he may have wanted too, did not ask her if that was truly the boy?s theory or hers. ?He?s a good boy, though.?

?Mhm,? rasped quietly as he swept eyes from road and aside to Ellwyn. The mule plodded on behind Geralt, connected to the Witcher via rope from harness to pale, scarred hand. He almost regretted his decision, almost. Ellwyn was not harsh at all to look upon, a right handsome woman with enough curves to her to make a man forget about things. Like the fact that she would not shut up.

?I told him after,? she crisply said, down and aside. Geralt snapped his eyes up, ?that it was no fault of his own. Next year he?d grow big and strong and be able to kick that bully Mared right back, I did.? He?d?somehow lost track of the subject. It?d jumped from here to there while he was staring.

?Mhm,? he answered again. She didn?t seem to mind his monosyllable replied because she smiled, a pretty little thing that pushed the freckled apples of her cheeks up and?

?Oh-ho! There we are, look then. There?s the house!? Ellwyn pointed a milk pale finger in the distance. Sun set quickly approached as the sky flooded with bloody red as well as orange ribbons of cloud and color. In the distance nestled on small hill to the left of them was a faded gray wood cottage merrily puffing smoke from its chimney into the cold air, he studied this as Ellwyn chattered excitedly about stew and getting him a bowl of it.

At the back of his neck, small hairs which curled along nape arose. The closer he stepped down the road the more the sense of foreboding, one that had kept him alive in many a situation began to grow.

Along the road, the shadows grew long and greedy, eating up the last fading rays of light.

In winter, Geralt believed somehow that the night sky became sharper with the edge of cold. Above slight swaying pines velveteen midnight blue splashed with silver dots of stars winked cool down to him, uncaring as ever, separated from the worries and cares below. In the distance he heard Ellwyn's plates clatter to a table even from where he stood, he could hear hare scuttle away from area and he could even smell the change in the air as night fell. Death oozed strong from the line of trees like oiled snakes slipping through grass. A man can't forget that smell once he knows it; it follows him everywhere reminding him of what happens when he lets his guard down.

Quietly, Geralt turned and studied the landscape before him. Several misshapen figures under the snow revealed to him that Ellywn had not lied. Remains of horses, cows, sheep and perhaps a few goats were buried under the snow. Each carcass licked clean of any meat what so ever and the bones gnawed with marrow sucked out.

He turned and made his way further from the cabin in hopes of keeping the violence away from it. He may very well be freak of nature but he felt no need to mar the minds of children any further than they already might have been living where they were. He heard Ellwyn call two names, Dru and Duggar for supper, her merry contralto wove through the cabin to carry even here.

The further he drew away from the cabin toward the dark, stoic line of pine trees the stronger the stench of decay grew. Perhaps this was his feeling of foreboding earlier? Maybe it was only the presence of undead attributed to the uneasiness? But surely, a handful of ghouls or alghouls would not have cause for such reaction; he?d taken care of them before, many, many times before. These weren?t anything truly to have instincts react to in such a way?Were they?

The toe of his boot caught on something buried under the snow. He knew he did not have much time now, if the ghouls were feasting on livestock instead of human flesh they would be starved, no doubt half mad with hunger and here he was standing in the middle of the snow like lost lamb. He knelt down a split second to take the broad of his palm and wipe away snow. Broken, cracked as well as forgotten beneath white and time was a sundered headstone from a grave. The single name engraved upon it made Geralt, literally, double take. A few seconds later he was clearing the snow around him to reveal two smaller stones, each worn and almost faded name clicked together in his mind like links in a chain.

So that?s?

No time to wonder it now. As he glanced upward, three sets of mindless, glowing red orbs flared to life within the choking dark of the wood. Three of them are far more than one of them, she lied to me.

Geralt arose quickly and scoured the air with his fingertips, drawing a series of complicated sigils. As he drew the sign of Quen, calling the earth to form barrier around the Witcher, the earth responded here near instantly. This surprised him momentarily, given how unstable his signs had apparently become here in a realm infused with confusing magics. He did not dwell long upon this thought however, as the shield formed. It was the color of amber mixed with dust and pebble, a pale bubble around and about Geralt that fed on his energies. It would last long enough and remain safe enough for him to quaff quick one of the potions on his belt then give him time to ready himself as well as his sword.

Inside the cabin, distant, Ellwyns melodic voice called a second time for her boys to come for their supper.

Geralt realized that it may be a longer night than he expected.

Even as the blast of fire fanning outward in ember ridden circle carried all three undead backwards to sprawl into the dirt, he could not help but remember a time when these monsters were not so easy. He had so many memories to work through, some cloudy, some not?

No time for reflections now, though. He had an inkling there was more to worry about than just the ghouls strewn several feet back, dazed and on fire like ancient old tinder. At this point in time however, he needs must concentrate on this portion of tonight?s entertainment, worry about that tickling thing at the back of his head later.

The smell of rotting flesh was unpleasant but now that it was set it on fire and it made Geralt shake his head once like dog that accidentally found the pepper. Silver sword in hand the Witcher half crouched himself and ate up the ground with his own mutagen inspired speed. Toward prone ghouls he hurried though his direction specific. The Alghoul, he decided needed to be taken care of first. The largest, most vicious as well as being the most powerful, life would be easier pickings to be rid of that first and concentrate on its less impressive friends.

Geralt placed one foot on the still stunned, now on fire in some places, Alghoul. While it was busy attempting with its limited intelligence in trying to understand how it got here, after going after its meal over there, Geralt twisted his sword until point. With its slim end saluting the ground, it was driven through the creature?s neck. It slid through greenish cast skin as hot knives in butter, only hitching when it sheathed slightly in the dirt behind the Alghoul?s neck. Beneath his foot, the Alghoul?s body jerked, the creature gurgled then flailed at the sword in its throat, slicing its own fingers and hands batting ineffectively at the weapon protruding from between collar bones.

The Witcher took no time to watch the creature struggle, the hilt of the sword was twisted first, then pushed right and left, separating its head from neck and leaving nothing but sliver of bone connecting. Geralt finished the job by stepping off the Alghouls chest then taking his other booted foot to the head. The shove with his heel severed the remainder with a sickening, yet satisfying snap. The head rolled, perpetually clueless and surprised several feet with now fading red eyes staring blank to the sky.

In the nick of time, really, as his friends, also caught on fire but entirely whole, began to scramble upward. So far, so good. Easy witcher?s work as far as he was concerned.

Geralt tipped blackened bloodied silver sword their way and turned to keep them before him. His smile tight lipped and slow, returned.

Sir Henry Jonathon Wolfsbane the third was a man trapped by his past. This wasn?t meant in some romantic sense, but in the very real state of things. A bird like, shrewd little man settled inside a full outfit of plate mail, the family?s crest painted across the impressive breast plate was chipped, battle worn and pitted. He looked positively trapped within it, his thin neck above the chest piece stuck out like twigs in a leaf pile. Yet, he wore it every day to work and settled himself clanking in a chair behind an old rosewood desk.

The years had shrunk him down within a suit of armor he once filled; he used to be an impressive man. He surveyed his desk and the piles of parchment, papers, notes, like a lord would survey carefully orchestrated maneuvers in a battle field. For the past ten years, Sir Henry, since granted this position within the Watch by his higher ups, had donned himself in the family?s armor and set himself behind the monumental task of processing the Watch?s paper work.

It was an entirely fruitless task, in essence.

It filled his money pouch with barely enough money to keep himself, his wife and their home running, their three children when they had been young in clothes and, now, in their retirement, it had eked enough for their daughter?s dowry and nothing more. Yet every morning Sir Henry would grimly arise well before dawn to spend the hours needed to buckle his failing body into the remnants of a past he felt had long died here. He spent countless more hours processing paper work the best he could; death reports, tallies, taxes unpaid, crimes unsolved, bounties paid. He had a system by now that meant he could process faster than the new hires, some who wore odd clothing made out of thick denim and shouted things such as, righteous, and, awesome.

His door, today, as it has been the entirety of his life working here was shut. Though the door is actually the three hundredth and eleventh door to grace the frame, as some enjoyed kicking them open as opposed to using the handle. There were several scars along the frame work from when it had exploded multiple times due to the enthusiastic young mages and he had not bothered to repair some of the scratches on the white washed walls behind him. The room was old but devoid of anything that was not in some manner or way, business. Much like Sir Henry had become.

He did not even look up in mid shuffle of yet another missing persons report, when the door was booted inward, followed by the rattle of swords out of scabbards and the clank of his fellow Watchmen rushing to the door. Sir Henry had seen it so many times that he could picture it in his head.

?I am afraid you have the wrong department,? he supplied without looking up. A hand gestured absently to the right. ?Claims, missing persons and such are over there.?

Whomever it was looming over his desk tossed something on top of the paper piles Sir Henry was working on. The man?s brows drew sharply, he could hear several of the younger Watchmen trainees collectively inhale. Sir Henry may not be what he once was, he may not be able to handle his sword play as he once did?but there was nothing wrong with the sharpness of his tongue. There were legends about grown men coming out of his office in tears.

Henry sucked in a breath to perhaps start in on a tirade, when the mingling scent of turned blood and perfume had him look at the mussed papers on his desk. There were droplets of coagulated blood, the consistency of jelly splattered all over his ever so neat paper work. It dribbled from a very unhappy looking severed head that had been plunked down on his desk proudly as children show brand new toys. Pretty face, something distantly familiar about it tickling his memory. The blue eyes had long faded to dead-white, its expression in death is not pleasant or surprised, mouth open and blue tongue rolled out as if she?d been caught in mid scream. The cinnamon curls were what drew his eye most. And then, of course, he looked up.

?I?m here for the reward,? a white haired man, the cause of the shadow towering across Henry's desk. He was of average height, Sir Henry surmised sharply. Neither above six foot nor below it, making him fit in here easily. His eyes were a strange mix of something not human, he would have said cat but as the seconds ticked by that was not it despite the pupils which slashed across reflective brass like felines. They seemed?otherworldly, to put it the best he could, and the white hair did not match the stubble growing across harsh jaw line.

?The reward?? A hand gestures to the head on his desk this time, then Sir Henry set down his quill, folded hands together and put them under his chin. ?All I see is a man bringing me the head of a possibly poor, defenseless woman. Why should I reward you for that??

The man curled his lips back and emitted a sound that was a terribly convincing snarl. Wolf like, almost. When he reached into his pocket, several of the Watchmen crowding the door all rushed to pull their swords in rattle from scabbard, several tried to push through the door at once, getting caught and making a ruckus.

?For the love of God?? Sir Henry?s brown eyes snapped toward the door, ?get out of my office. I am not yet so feeble that I cannot know when I should have need of you, to call you. Get out. Out!?

They shuffled out one by one and shut the door, hanging heads. Gods above, he thought, when will they stop sending me pups to train? Sir Henry pretended he could not hear them leaning against the door to eavesdrop and returned attentions to the white haired man. ?As I was saying??

The white haired fellow pulled hand from pocket and tossed a ring beside the severed head. It tinged momentarily, as Sir Henry unfolded a hand that had long ago lost its sword calloused to pick it up. A red ruby in the shape of a tear, the inscription, ?For my Scarlet, love, Alrric,? engraved inside the band.

?I believe there was a reward posted for the Scarlet witch? The one luring people to their deaths?? The snowy headed male put a hand on the desk, below his palm was a signed and officially sealed copy of the contract for bounty.

?Indeed,? Sir Henry drawled. His eyes fell on the woman and then a parchment tucked beneath the bloody meat and bone of stumped neck. Long fingers twitched the blackened smeared paper out from under it and Henry picked up his set aside quill, dipped it in ink pot, scratched his name beneath it and reached for his seal and wax. ?Your presentation is lacking, however. Take this slip to the front desk and they shall give you your two hundred gold.?

The man reached for the paper, which Sir Henry twitched back toward him slightly, just out of the mans grasp. ?Before you take this, entertain an old man, won?t you??

The white haired man grunted. Sir Henry continued. ?How did you know she was the Scarlet witch??

Geralt tipped his head aside, studying the room. ?I didn?t,? he began, ?not at first. Some people are well versed in hiding the monster within them. It wasn?t until I awaited the ghouls at night and accidentally stumbled across the gravestones. The names chiseled within them were the names of her sons and apparent lover she mentioned before hand, as if they were alive.

After I killed them, she appeared in crimson with ruby ring, matching the description.? He was not a man made for speeches; he delivered that matter of fact then reached over and tore the paper out of Sir Henry?s grasp. Sir Henry narrowed his eyes on him.

?You have to sign the paper, as well.? He didn?t, actually. But Henry was a shrewd man despite the dust age might have settled on his appearance. The white haired man grunted, pulled the ink well toward him and shoved the wrinkled paper on the desk. Smoothing it out awkwardly, he scratched the single initials, G of R, and shoved the quill like one would sheath a sword in a gut back into the well.


?I?m leaving,? the man rasped with little care, turning about to the door. Sir Henry waved a hand as if he could see it. Half way to the door however, the man stopped and half turned, dark brows arising. ?Do you want a mule??

Sir Henry blinked. ?A what??

The white haired man set his jaw. ?A mule. It?s been following me since last night. Do you want it??

The old knight behind the desk snorted a laugh before smothering it with a sharp clearing of his throat. ?No, no thank you.?

The white haired man slumped, slightly and exhaled sharply, throwing open the door and scattering Watchmen to and fro in his long legged stride out.

Sir Henry watched him go, for as long as his old eyes could follow him down the hall and until he disappeared. He couldn?t remember the last time someone had actually followed through with a bounty. He had the feeling he would see this man again, Sir Henry did not think it was as bad as?he pulled a face at the severed head still on his desk, turned and bellowed for one of the trainees.

___________________________________________

Geralt descended the stairs from the local Watchmen?s building, eye balling the mule that stood on the cobblestone in the way of everyone coming and going from the building. Daisy was chewing lazily on the weeds poking through the rocks below her hooves as if she were in the midst of some field in summer.

When his foot touched the last step, Daisy?s ears pricked up and forward followed by her head. Passer-bys that day would recount the tale of man and mule, both staring down one another like pig headed fools might.

In the end Geralt reached up to rub his palm over his brow then let his hand drop.

?Whatever,? he told the mule, turning on leather booted heel and marching down the road. Daisy snorted, turned herself about and followed at an easy gait behind the Witcher.