the angels hidden blade

SIX

As dawn approached, the first pale rays of sunlight bathed Nefeli in a gentle, silvery glow as she stood beside the stables. 

The air was crisp, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of hay and earth, intermingled with the rich aroma of the horses. 

The aroma was a heady mix of musk, leather, and the earthy warmth that clung to the beasts, a comforting blend of scents that marked the beginning of another day on the road.

The stables were a bustling hub of activity, with horses of various sizes and colours waiting patiently for their riders. 

Some nickered softly, creating a harmonious symphony of equine sounds, while others stamped their hooves or swished their tails. 

Each horse was unique, bearing its own personality and quirks.

Among the horses, a giant black stallion, Fenrir, stood out. 

The impressive steed was a magnificent sight, its coat glossy and sleek. 

A black leather saddle adorned its back, reins hanging ready for their rider. A small pouch dangled from the saddle, carrying essential supplies.

Nefeli herself had donned dark leathers, her attire designed for both comfort and functionality. 

She wore long pants and a long-sleeved leather top that clung to her skin, offering protection against the cold. 

Silver daggers were securely holstered, positioned strategically at her side, hip, and leg. 

A bow and a quiver of arrows rested across her back, ready for use if needed. She had always been a skilled archer, but her expertise with knives exceeded all else.

A small leather sack was slung across her back and fastened around her chest, carrying the essentials of her meagre possessions. 

Within it, she carried a few healing herbs, knife-sharpening rocks, dried meat, and fruit. 

It was a stark reminder of the simplicity of her life, her few belongings serving as her lifeline on this journey.

With her breath creating faint foggy wisps in the chilly air, Nefeli couldn't help but smile as her eyes landed on the small pouch hanging from Fenrir's saddle. 

Vesemir had thoughtfully packed her extra rations, a silent show of support and care that warmed her heart on this cold morning.

A dark brown horse, smooth and sleek, stood next to Fenrir. 

As Nefeli approached, both horses turned their heads to regard her. The brown horse huffed softly, and a smile played on her lips as she extended her hand toward it.

"Don't touch Roach," a harsh voice suddenly cut through the morning air, and Nefeli jumped in surprise, her heart racing. 

She spun around to find Geralt standing there, glaring at her. He was an imposing figure, his form clad in dark leather, and weapons of all kinds covered his body. 

His piercing eyes bore into her, and his face was set in an unyielding expression that seemed carved from stone.

Without uttering another word, Geralt stormed past her, his steps heavy and resolute. 

He reached out and gently grasped Roach's reins, his touch surprisingly gentle and at odds with his usual aloof demeanour. 

It was a gesture that left Nefeli puzzled and a little taken aback.

With an exasperated huff, she turned her attention back to Fenrir, who gazed down at her with those dark, intense eyes. 

She shook her head, amused by the complexity of these powerful stallions.