Try, Please Try For Me

Why So Blue?

The forest is dark as the sun sets in the sky. Geralt moves as fast as his feet can take him, his eyes scanning the forest floor, searching.

Finally he comes across a small clearing in the deepest part of the forest. A little grassy area surrounded by birch trees, illuminated by the last of the sun's dying rays. Centered in the grass, clusters of dandelions grow in a golden circle.

The wind whistles through the trees, as if sensing Geralt's presence. The witcher's eyes flick through the treetops, watching the leaves rustle.

He looks down at Jaskier in his arms. The bard's careful stitches have been ever so slightly torn in the midst of Geralt's running and his wound steadily oozes dark blood across them both. The beating of his heart is faint. So, painfully faint.

"I need your help," Geralt says into the trees. He holds Jaskier's body against his chest as the wind ripples around them. "I need you to help him."

The breeze licks across Geralt's skin, the coolness of it caressing the curve of his face, down the length of his arms. It kicks up a flurry of leaves that swirl through the air.

"Please. I don't know how to save him."

Geralt's throat chokes up. His lips curl away from his teeth, his chest heaving with panicked breath. A gust of wind whips through the clearing, the whistling groan of creaking branches accompanied by a hint of tinkling bells, like mocking laughter.

Geralt opens his mouth and screams at the sky, dropping to his knees as his voice echoes through the forest.

"I know. You're. There," he roars.

He hangs his head, studying Jaskier's still face. The corner of the witcher's eyes burn, a sob is lodged in his throat. When he speaks his voice is barely a whisper. "Please."

As if someone has blown out a candle, everything stops at once. The forest falls completely silent. The breeze stills.

When Geralt looks up there are two figures standing in the center of the circle.

The first looks to be a cross between a human and a dragonfly, with shimmering blue-green skin, eyes black as pitch, and a set of insect-like wings on its back. The second looks to be a woman made entirely out of tree bark.

The winged one tips its head in question, black eyes fixated on Geralt. When it speaks it's voice sounds muffled, like the sound is overlaid by the scraping of a blade on stone. "You trespass in our circle, witcher."

"I need your help," Geralt says.

Something dangerous glints in the creature's eye and it glances to its companion before turning its attention back on him. "I am the one called Twillthistle," it says, "guardian of the western forest."

"And I am the one called Aspenfroth," the second says, "guardian of the eastern forest."

"You carry one of our own," Twillthistle says. It's gaze falls on Jaskier, cold and calculating.

Geralt instinctively holds the bard closer to him. "Yes," he says, "he's been injured. I seek to heal him."

"He smells of death," Aspenfroth comments.

Twillthistle's eyes sweep over Jaskier's form, it's top lip curling away to reveal pointed teeth as it recoils at the sight. "Indeed. Poisoned by ash."

"Ash?" Geralt replies. "Like ash wood?"

The fae nods. "It is deadly to our kind. Drains our magic, burns our bodies from the inside out."

"Can you help him?"