If life could give me one blessing...

He is a great friend - part 3

"Vesemir?"

"Yes, Ciri?"

"Can I come inside?" a blond head peeked into the room, watching the old witcher, as he wrote something, sitting at the table in the bard's room.

"Of course," he agreed, and she quickly went inside before he changed his mind. She walked straight to the bed and sat on the stool next to it. The bard was sleeping at the moment. Eyes closed and expression peaceful, even if he looked tired and thin. There was a half-eaten bowl of stew on the table Vesemir sat at, and an empty cup with a pitcher of herbal tea made especially for the bard.

"So... Jaskier really is a unicorn, isn't he?" she whispered while watching the pale sleeping face.

"Really? Don't tell me you had a suspicion, child?" Vesemir turned the chair around, so they could look at each other and at Jaskier while talking.

"Actually, Jaskier told me," she blushed a little. "On one of his visits to Cintra, I asked him if he had any family himself, since he spoke so fondly of mine. He said, that he is a unicorn and they are born from moonlight, every three hundred years or so. That he doesn't have parents, but a herd. Of course I didn't believe him, and he continued with one of his songs right after," she mumbled, brows furrowed together as she pouted.

"How could I have known that he was actually telling the truth?" she folded her hands over her chest and looked at the sleeping unicorn.

"You couldn't have," Vesemir smiled fondly. "That's just like him, to talk about the truth so casually, to give honest answers, even if they sound silly and unbelievable. In this world, when lie is more common than truth, honestly is so rare a trait, that not many people believe it," he said, leaning back in the chair, thinking about his time with Zima, as he was back then.

"You sound like you knew him well," Ciri asked, eyes hopeful. She loved listening in the rare times he decided to tell his stories.

"We travelled together quite a lot. Not so much like him and Geralt, from what I know, but on many years he followed me on the path. It was like a fresh breeze to meet him, even though he had quite the talent for finding trouble on the way. He got caught a few times, and I had to free him. There was that one time he tried to befriend a harpy, believing she could be reasoned with. Needless to say, she almost got him. But the friendship I gained in return? Priceless," he nodded seriously, eyes looking at Jaskier again.

"You met him on the path? But you were a trainer, weren't you? I thought you always stayed at Kaer Morhen," Ciri asked and Vesemir's eyes darkened for a moment, returning in his memories to that time of despair.

"It wasn't always like that, cub. You know about The Sacking, Geralt told you, right?"

Ciri nodded with a saddened expression. Good, so that he didn't have to talk about.

"After that, things changed. There was too little of us. No students left. Nobody for me to teach, except the survived wolves, who were all pretty much prepared to walk the path alone or have walked it already. It took a few decades to repair the keep to at least this state. And when it was done, it was too empty. Too silent in the summer when others left. So I returned to the path once again.

That was when I met him. And for many years, I knew him. He would appear out of nowhere. Sometimes in the middle of summer, he would come sprinting across the shore of the ocean, when I ventured south. Sometimes he would only meet me in autumn, walking through the mist like a shadow, almost not there. Sometimes he would show up in the spring right after I left Kaer Morhen, and then follow me all year long. He would leave just as suddenly.

We would talk a lot. He was so old and yet so young in some things. Unspoiled, untouched by the bad things of this world. But still wise in his own way. I made sure to save his hide, while he made sure to save my soul. It is thanks to him that I was able to stay in the keep in the summer again," the old wolf smiled, before his expression turned somber again. Ciri was listening intently, her eyes on the gray-haired witcher, who slumped a little in his chair, weariness of the last few days visible in his face.

"I would also love to talk to him again," she whispered.

"He is a great friend, isn't he? Always dragging us out of dark places."

"That he is, child. That he is."