the angels hidden blade

EIGHT

Days blended into nights, forming a relentless continuum of travel. 

The journey had adopted a rhythm of its own—ride through the day and night in unbroken silence, stopping only for water from a stream, chewing on rough meat, and attempting to stay awake on Fenrir's back. 

It had been nearly a week, and Nefeli's voice felt like an overgrown thicket in her throat, the absence of its use adding to the weight of the silence that enveloped them.

Today was different. 

The White Wolf rode next to her instead of leading the way. 

Her eyes swung sideways, observing him from her peripheral vision. 

His figure was a study in contrast against the backdrop of the forest.

The White Wolf sat astride Roach with a commanding presence. His hair glowed and the subtle brilliance of his amber eyes held a mysterious depth. 

His expression, as always, was as enigmatic as the shadows that danced beneath the thick canopy of trees.

Large hands, weathered and scarred, held the reins with practised ease. 

His powerful frame was cloaked in dark leather that accentuated the contours of his muscular form. 

The hilt of that silver sword peeked from its sheath at his side. 

As Nefeli watched him, something stirred within her stomach, an unexpected sensation that made her eyebrows furrow in confusion. 

It was a warmth, intense and almost uncomfortable, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Chort," the sudden sound of Geralt's voice made Nefeli flinch. 

She had almost forgotten how deep and thunderous his voice could be. 

His eyes still didn't meet hers as he rode alongside her.

"What?" she asked, her gaze fixed on him. 

Finally, his head turned sideways, and the burning gold of his eyes once again sent that strange shiver across her skin. 

The white scar that ran from his forehead to his cheek almost seemed to shine in the sunlight.

"That's what's in Eldemire," he stated, his voice quiet yet resonating with a booming intensity. The revelation sent a chill down her spine. 

Despite the weight of their journey and the revelations about Eldemire, a small, unbidden smile threatened to tug at the corners of Nefeli's lips. 

The man's eyes flew to them, a frown knitting his brow.

"What?" he demanded, his tone edged with annoyance. 

Nefeli shook her head, curls bouncing as she turned her gaze away from him.

"Nothing just didn't realize you were so talkative," she replied, the words surprising even herself. 

Was she joking with him? 

The exhaustion and hunger gnawing at her might have been pushing her sanity to the edge. 

Yet, there was a strange exhilaration in teasing the usually stoic White Wolf, as if it were a fleeting moment of rebellion against the silence that had become their constant companion on this journey.

The man's glare hardened, and with a flick of Roach's reins, he moved ahead of her, distancing himself. 

Still, that small smile continued to grow on Nefeli's face.

It was a strange sensation. Perhaps that was why Rhys often engaged in such banter. Knowing you could get under someone's skin with a few words, no matter how stoic they were, was a peculiar source of empowerment. 

As hours passed, Nefeli observed the gradual transformation of the forest around her. 

The towering trees began to thin out, their majestic forms making way for open spaces and a landscape that unfolded in great detail.

The trees, once densely clustered, now stood with increasing gaps between them. 

Their branches reached skyward, creating intricate patterns against the canvas of blue above. 

Shafts of sunlight streamed through the breaks in the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. 

The air, once thick with the earthy scent of moss and leaves, now carried a lighter fragrance, a hint of wildflowers and open spaces.

As the trees receded, the terrain beneath her changed. The ground, once covered in a carpet of fallen leaves, transformed into rolling hills. 

The grass beneath Fenrir's hooves was lush and green, swaying in the gentle breeze that whispered through the meadows. 

Flowers of vibrant hues dotted the landscape, their petals reaching toward the sun.

The hills were undulated in graceful curves, their slopes creating a natural rhythm that extended as far as the eye could see. 

The meadows stretched out, inviting and expansive, a welcome change from the dense confines of the forest. 

"Know what a Chort is?" his voice shattered the silence she had been savouring. She turned to find him once again by her side.

Geralt's presence was truly striking, his rugged allure heightened by the changing landscape around them. 

His white hair framed a face that could rival a painting. The chiselled features seemed to hold the weight of untold stories, and the white scar running from his forehead to his cheek added a layer of ruggedness. 

Amber eyes, deep and penetrating, locked onto hers with an intensity that held both mystery and power. 

Gods, he's beautiful.

The thought crossed Nefeli's mind, catching her off guard and making her momentarily still. 

Ice filled every part of her as she grappled with the unexpected nature of her own thoughts. 

Where had that even come from? She had never thought anything like that before.

Quickly, she turned away from him, her stomach churning with unease. 

The grass beneath Fenrir's hooves became the focus of her attention as she tried to shake off the unsettling notion that had surfaced.

Ignore it. she told herself, the words a quiet mantra repeated in the recesses of her mind. 

"Aggressive and territorial, often in rural areas. Ugly, very ugly," she said finally, her gaze fixed on the grass rippling like water. 

A huff sounded from beside her, and her head whipped toward the man. To her surprise, a small smile tugged at his lips.

Did he just laugh? The thought left her incredibly confused. 

The stoic and serious White Wolf showing a hint of amusement was an unexpected sight.

Silence once again settled between them, and for the first time in the past few days, Nefeli found herself grateful for it. 

The strange, burning sensation had returned, coursing through her with an intensity she couldn't quite comprehend. 

She hated it, this uncharted territory of emotions and thoughts that seemed to accompany the unpredictable journey they were on. 

The solace of silence became a refuge, shielding her from the turmoil that simmered beneath the surface, waiting to be unravelled.

She refused to touch it.