Kyana Of Cintra

11

Townspeople, including Stregobor, filed gently into the square where so many bodies lay. They soon began to whisper and cry out in horror, gazing at the bodies that had been torn apart by the Witchers. Stregobor crouched next to Renfri, observing the poor girls state. "Incredible." He stated with a vile fascination. "Marilka? Marilka! Get me a cart. We'll take her to the tower for an autopsy."

Geralt held a sword to the side of Stregobor's neck, while Kyana tried to balance on her sword as her wound gushed a red stream. Geralt growled defensively at him. "If you touch a single hair on her head, yours will be on the ground next." Geralt warned, his sword never wavering.

"Have you gone mad? Her mutation, it influences people. That's how she got these men to follow her. We need to take it." It was as though it had dawned on Stregobor in that very moment. "She got to you too, didn't she?"

"Do not touch her." Geralt insisted. Kyana started to doubt herself, her own mind. Yet Geralt stood there as sound as he possibly could be, without a care if his connection with Renfri was at all forced. He still felt something.

"Witchers, you've butchered bodies in the streets of Blaviken?" Stregobor knew what he was doing, and he loved every second of it. The villagers heard him, taking his side at once.

"You're beasts!"

"You endangered the girl!"

Yells started to come through the crowd, and Stregobor used it to fuel them against the Witchers. "You both took the law into your own hands." As the shouts intensified, Geralt knew he had to lower his sword to live. "You made a choice." Stregobor spat with a poison in his words. "And you'll never know if it was the right one."

Geralt lowered his sword to the ground, aware that one against around one hundred and fifty people was a very poor chance. The first stone hit Kyana, directly in her multiple stab wounds. She clutched at the wound and the sword began to shake at her unbalanced weight. Kyana's sword gave out and she dropped to the ground in a heap of blood and pain. Geralt hesitated at first, but decided to sheath his sword and help her. The stones rained on both of them like hail as Geralt helped Kyana to her shaky feet, although every time Kyana tried to stand, she shook beyond control.

He looked up, noting Marilka in front of him, trying to contain tears. "Get out of Blaviken, Geralt. Never come back." She warned him, tugging at her dress sleeve. Kyana's eyes rolled back as blood loss kicked in. She had lost at least a litre and a half of blood already, and her body started to protest. Geralt clutched onto Kyana, pulling her gently against him to support her, his arms wrapped securely around her to keep her as safe as possible. Shortly after he secured her in his hold, Kyana fainted from the pain.

Geralt glared at Marilka and Stregobor as he gently picked up Kyana's unconscious body. They left Blaviken, Geralt's chin held high and Kyana's limp arm swinging around his leg, and never, ever returned.

****

Far off into the woods where he knew they were safe, Geralt got off his horse and delicately lifted Kyana from hers. The stab wound was still bleeding profusely, but was beginning to slow. Her shirt was stained red from the armpit to her waist, marking it completely unusable. Geralt placed her gently on the forest floor.

Geralt fingered at the shirt, sighing when he looked up at Kyana's peaceful face. She hadn't woken since they left Blaviken, which was around half an hour ago, and Geralt began to get concerned. With a long, deep sigh, Geralt lifted the shirt high enough to see Kyana's wounds. Geralt's eyes widened. The entirety of her left side was a bloodied mess. He counted seven stab wounds, all hilt deep. Geralt was surprised Kyana hadn't passed out sooner, let alone last as long as she did.

Geralt rose from his knees and unhooked his satchel from the saddle. With the bowl he used to eat with, Geralt collected water from the flowing stream next to them to clean the wounds. He found the needle and thread he had stored in a small black bag, opening it and threading the needle with no real problem. Kneeling once again, he inspected the damage and selected a clean rag from his satchel, soaking it in the water. He cleaned her wounds, dabbing gently to cause her the least amount of pain.

"It hasn't hit anything major." He muttered aloud, continuing to clean the area. Once the only blood that remained was the fresh drops that seeped from the open wounds, Geralt began preparing to stitch all seven gashes shut. He pinched the now clean skin around one of her wounds together and thread the needle through.

Kyana was so out of it she didn't wake, even then when he was stitching fresh wounds. During the entire process of Geralt stitching her damages together, not once did Kyana stir. When he had finished, he cut the needle with the tip of his hunting knife and placed it gingerly back into the bag. He brought out a bandage to wrap her stitches, easing her back to arch when he needed to move the bandage under her. He got to work immediately, placing the bandage under her and moving a hand over her to reach it. Every time he wrapped over and under, his hands brushed on her smooth skin. He marveled at the softness of it, even if it was torn and bloodied.

Geralt tied it off at the place of her wounds in order to keep pressure on it to stop the bleeding. His hands were covered in her blood, although he didn't seem to mind as he washed them in the stream. Geralt debated weather or not he should change her shirt to stop an infection. From his own bag, he selected a cream shirt that he never really wore. It was way to big for her, but felt soft in his hands and would be gentle on her healing wound.

Geralt tore the garment Kyana was wearing in certain places, before slipping the cream shirt over her head. He then removed the old shirt from under the new, keeping her decency perfectly in tact. Geralt removed the blanket from under Kyana's horse's saddle, setting it onto the floor next to a tree. He lifted Kyana gently, propping her against the tree and covering her with his own blanket. 

Once she was taken care of, Geralt hissed and looked down to his own wound, which had been left unattended to. It had become dirty and muddy, and therefore would be infected pretty soon. Geralt sighed, glancing once again at Kyana, before removing his shirt to inspect the wound. Geralt wouldn't use the same water as he had to clean Kyana's, in case she had an infection that he could catch. Instead, Geralt waded into the lake with a fresh cloth, cleaning his stab wound while his ears listened for anything suspicious.

He heard nothing unusual.