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The fog was setting over the forest outside of Blaviken, setting a rather eery tone had the Witchers not been used to such a surrounding. Azalea found herself wincing as she sat a little way off from where her friend stood by Roach. She kept the bloodied cloth - the only thing she had to cover her wound - pressed against her face.
She was stupid, she knew that. Why anger a girl of whom had murdered puppies, tortured innocent birds and murdered a maid? Why anger a girl that seemed to act on instinct rather than logic?
Azalea couldn't answer her own questions, to which led her to stare off into the distance. She could hear faint crickets chirping and the birds singing out their songs. She took in a shuddering breath before slowly peeling away the cloth and resting it onto the ground. She tried to blink, to see if she were able to do so without being in pain, and when a throb and pinch encased her eye when she tried to blink, it was safe to say Azalea got her answer.
"Shit." She cussed with a disappointed shake of her head. How could she be so foolish? Taking off her gloves, she raised a smooth finger to her cheek where she gently - albeit painfully - ran it down the new wound which was undoubtably deeper than the previous time and a little more jagged.
"That needs to be cleaned." His gruff and deep, relaxing voice called out from behind her. Azalea twisted her body to be able to see him better, and yet he almost scowled at her and looked like he was telling off a child with how his muscular arms were crossed over his chest, slightly flexing the muscles-
"Hm." Azalea hummed, clearing her throat to try and stop herself from fixating on the little details of Geralt that she hadn't taken notice to before. Her red cat's-eyes looked away from Geralt and towards the trees once more, seemingly ignoring his claim.
"Come on." He gripped her arm, practically forcing her to stand, before dragging her towards Roach. He wasn't accepting "no" or a hum for an answer. He made her sit by the base of a tree whilst he grabbed a bowl, filling it with water from his waterskin and grabbing a dry, un-bloodied cloth. "You know what Vesemir would say." He then said, aiming to distract Azalea as he knelt down on one knee, bowl in hand with the damp cloth in the other.
"Don't be so stupid?" Azalea questioned, hissing slightly as Geralt began to work at cleaning her face.
""Witchers shouldn't play at being white knights"." Geralt corrected her, chuckling as softly as she could. ""We shouldn't try and uphold the law. We don't show off. We get paid in coin"."
"He never believed we should tarry ourselves in others' affairs." Azalea then commented, humming to herself before wincing as Geralt continued.
"He was right." Geralt grinned slightly, reminiscing the many lectures the older Witcher had given them in their youth. "Want to hear about my first monster?"
"Wasn't it the grave hag near, uh, oh fuck, what was the place called?" Whilst Azalea was distracted on trying to remember the place of which she thought Geralt had first slewn a monster, the Witcher had pressed a tad harsher onto her new wound, of which elicited a yelp. He felt guilty for it, but he knew it had to be done.
"Stop squirming." He mumbled, shaking his head. "And the grave hag was just before the beginning of my first winter as a Witcher. I was near Olena's Grove." Azalea's mouth hung open slightly, and taking the time to make the most of it, Geralt picked up some grasp subtly and shoved it in her mouth.
"Ew-fuck-ugh-gross, Geralt!" She spat the grass out as much as she could, gagging as thoughts of creatures like foxes pissing all over it. She shivered and looked towards her friend with outrage. He grinned slyly, knowing that she wasn't mad at him in reality.
"You needed a distraction." He shrugged his shoulders before rinsing the cloth off and then further ringing it out until it was damp.
"You gonna tell me of the first monster? Or were you satisfied putting piss soaked grass in my mouth?" Azalea glared at her friend, shaking her head slightly. To stop her from moving much more, Geralt grabbed the side of her face and forced her to look in one direction and be unmoving.
"Wasn't fifty miles outside of Kaer Morhen." Geralt finally said in his gravelly voice that made Azalea shiver sometimes. With a concentrated pinch of his brow, Geralt continued to wipe away as much blood as he could from Azalea's face. "He was huge." The white-haired Witcher stood and brushed his hands off, walking towards Roach with a sad look in his eyes. "Stinking. Bald head. Rotten teeth." As he spoke, Gealt rifled through his emergency medical supplies for when he or Azalea ran out of Swallow or the White Raffard's Decoction, and grabbed the needle and thread.
"Nuh-uh, i ain't getting-"
"Azi, shut the fuck up." Geralt turned quickly and began walking towards his friend with a shake in his head.
"Oh, so fucking sorry, sir. Please continue the damn story." Azalea's patience was running thin, and she tried to move her waves of dark hair away from her face but it wasn't co-operative and therefore was annoying her further.
"He pulled that girl from the cart, tore her dress off in front of her father and said, "it's time you met a real man"." Azalea suddenly didn't feel annoyed, her eyes slightly wide and her mouth drawn into a tight line as her brows became pinched together, forheead creased. She had heard and experienced the joys from men as such as what Geralt had spoken off, but for someone else without her expertise in swordsmanship and signs and alchemy, they'd have no chance getting away.
They'd be left to have their dignity stripped from them, purely for the sake of a man getting his dick wet.
"I told him "it was time you met one, too"." Geralt had threaded the needle by now and began to sow the rather deep wound together. He knew it hurt Azalea extensively, to which he felt bad for, but he was looking out for her so he also didn't care. If this got the job done, so be it. "It took two strikes to kill him. They weren't clean. But they were spectacular."
"Bastard deserved-" a sharp hiss cut Azalea off, Geralt's needing poking her wrong. "Fuck!" Her cry of pain subsided and she took in a deep breath. "Twat."
"You're the one that pissed her off."
"Oh, i'm sorry, am i meant to ignore the shit she did? That makes her as much of a deranged monster as a rapist." Azalea growled out, about to stand and walk away. She hated snapping at Geralt in such a way as she did, for he hadn't done anything wrong, but the Witcher grabbed her arm tightly and shook his head.
"You can be pissy later, let's just get this damn face sewn together." Azalea sighed, sitting in her original space. Geralt continued his story, speaking of how the girl was terrified of him. "I thought the world needed me, too."
"We were the unlucky ones, Ger." Azalea whispered, her eyes glossing over slightly as she thought of how she and her sister had been ripped apart from each other. "The world didn't need us, but it still beckons us when they can't kill the monsters." Now that Geralt had finished sewing the wound, she stood and nodded her thanks to him before she wrapped her arms around herself and took a stroll.
The trees were endless, the crunch beneath her boot the only sound she could hear, even with her heightened senses. It was as though the forest were more desolate by the second, like something had scared all the living things away.
But she decided not to pay attention to that, knowing it was simply the paranoia she sometimes felt getting to her.
Azalea, instead, raised a finger and delicately ran it over the cut that Geralt had stitched for her. She was thankful to have a friend like him, of whom would look out for her indefinitely. It soothed her worries that one day he'd leave her alone, decide she was an able enough Witcher to travel the path alone. She was a brilliant Witcher, truly, she could do as much and as good as Geralt, but her worry was still there.
Her temper was too temperamental, it was too shaky. It takes nothing to rile the girl up, she knew this, but how was she to pretend to be fine? Azalea sighed and ducked her head, looking at the ground she walked on.
A mix of dark brows, light browns, a couple yellow. Autumn was upon them, and soon, it would be Winter. They'd be heading for Kaer Morhen in a few months at the latest, something that Azalea was most definitely looking forwards to.
Azalea wasn't sure how long she had been walking for, only that the trees kept passing her by and the sky grew to be darker, casting a slight glow on her face as the moon shined briefly. She was alone, no understanding of which way she went, and still unwanting to turn around and go back.
Instead, the female Witcher stopped in her tracks and lowered herself to the ground, lying on her back and staring at the night sky. Stars poked through, and the moon became hidded from a small bundle of clouds that would eventually move away.
"Goodnight, Yen." She whispered. Although Azalea would not fall to a slumper just yet, she hoped that, somehow, her sister did. If Yennefer was still alive, brilliant, she'd love to see the girl whether she be old and wrinkly and Azalea would not. But there was a grain of fear when it came to the other option, that Yennefer could be dead and she would then be alone. No family, only Geralt and the family she crafted at Kaer Morhen.
"Who's Yen?" Azalea was alarmed, but she stayed lying on the forest floor. It was Renfri's voice and therefore, Azalea knew her swords weren't needed. Not that she had them anyways, a fatal mistake she only just realised.
"None of your damn business." Azalea snapped back, her scarlett gaze was back onto the sky and she sucked in a deep yet soft breath, releasing it after a second or two.
"Is it a sister?" Renfri took a few more steps towards the female Witcher, soon sitting down so that - if Azalea were to sit up - they'd be opposed to each other and able to look the other in the eyes.
"None of your damn business." Azalea responded with a much harsher tone, glaring at Renfri. With her moment spoiled, the Witcher stood swiftly and turned as though to make her way back to her dear friend. "Now, excuse me, but i need to make sure Geralt hasn't stabbed himself with a pestle."
"Geralt's asleep." The tone that Renfri used was cynical, and it put Azalea on edge. Enough so that the female Witcher spun and took a few furious steps towards the cursed woman.
"What did you do?" Azalea demanded, her scarlett cat's eyes twitching with hate and distrust. The air seemed to thicken as Azalea internally panicked. What if she had somehow murdered her friend?
Would she return to camp to find a lifeless Geralt, his skin even paler than before, eyes closed, lips closed and chest unrising?
And why, of all things, did Azalea think of how she would've missed her chance to see what Geralt's lips on hers would feel like?
"Simply gave him a good time." The lopsided yet cruel grin was enough fuel to make Azalea clench her fist and swing for Renfri. The woman took a stumbling couple of steps backwards, clutching her cheek that throbbed painfully, before noticing that Azalea was sprinting for the camp.
Renfri, with determination, was running after Azalea.
The female Witcher was much faster with an almost unlimited amount of stamina it seemed, but Renfri was quick. She pumped her legs, begging them silently to carry them until she reached the Witchers' camp.
As time passed by, Renfri about to collapse in exhaustion as her legs felt like they had been set aflame from the depths of Hell, the slightly burning fire of the camp came into view. And there was Azalea, waiting for Renfri with a steel and sharp sword in hand.
"I will strike at you until you drop for what you've done." The Witcher seethed, her voice low and threatening but it held promise. She was going to see her threat through.
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a/n
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