The Human (A Witcher Fanfic)

Chapter 7: What's A Hero

Ves climbed atop Lance, the moon now peaking over the horizon like a tyrannical king looking over at all he owns as the night sky took hold of the mountains above it. She made haste, going along the Copper Stream and towards the birthing place of it.

The leaves of the trees along the stream were finally starting to turn and fall, there was an under touch of cold in the air to accompany the oranges and browns but the fading summer warmth hadn't disappeared completely yet. The moon was full and so not much was left to the imagination in the forest, besides the darkest bits far out of sight. Ves clinched the reins of Lance and rode. There was a calmness to the ride, the crickets playing an ode to a fresh adrenaline filled warrior going to battle for the first time, but the breeze and soft touch of the moon kept Ves grounded. She appreciated the quiet, the alone time from everything, especially if it was the last time she would feel this way. It hadn't fully hit her yet, that she might not come home but she did know if she didn't succeed there wouldn't be a home to come back to.

She was happy she decided not to say any last goodbyes. She was more afraid of feeling vulnerable than dying and she knew all it took was for Mossly or Rose to tear up and she couldn't have gone through with it. She wished her mother would have shown any reaction at all. Her blankness hasn't been easy to deal with these past few years. If only her father were still around or her mothers mind hadn't started failing her. Ves shut out those thoughts, knowing it's not the time to think of tragedy or what ifs. It also wasn't the time to focus too hard on the upcoming battle, for if fear sets in too deep it acts like an infection, killing you slowly from the inside and she might turn around or worse. She instead focused on the sounds of the forest around her in a trance as she rode along the dry river bed.

The journey wasn't a long one. As the mountain grew ever more foreboding and Ambra a distant memory. The dry bed narrowing closer to the mountain, with it a fog slowly thickened until Ves reached the foot of the mountain. She was in a small clearing where the Copper Stream met the mountain and that's when she saw what was blocking its flow. A giant dead moose, along with a few stags laid in front of the 4 foot-ish cave in the mountain where the waters came from. She climbed down off Lance and pulled the pitchfork strap over her head and took her weapon in her hands.

She walked forward towards the blockage but the fog thickened still until she could barely see her hand in front of her face. She stopped and stood still, and even the breeze followed suit. She heard a twig crack behind her and she spun around to meet her attacker but only met a blank grayscale canvas.

The fear, the reality, began to set in as she spun and swung her pitchfork in the fog to nothing. She started to question if a monster even existed at all but before the thought could even fully form her question was answered in real time.

Like a lightning flash, a skinny grey arm with razor claws swiped through the air, cutting Ves on the arm! Her reaction an afterimage. And then, again, the claw swiped. This time grazing her cheek, she repealed with a winch. A few inches closer and half of her face would have been gone. A fierce panic took hold of her legs and she began to run. She could hear the monster pursing her on the rocks behind her.

She nearly ran into a tree, brushing the side of it and spinning to keep momentum. She trampled through bushes and saplings, the beast hot on her heels and the unrelenting fog painting the world in an unforeseeable horror. Each step of both echoing through the forest and just then, Ves stopped dead in her tracks and so did the sounds of the monster. The fear remained but a spark of clarity gave Ves an idea. She couldn't use her eyes but maybe she didn't need them. She closed her eyes and listened to the forest like she did before except this time the crickets and owls were voiceless and the whispering winds silent, making the branches and leaves quiet, too.