the angels hidden blade

FOURTEEN

Nefeli approached Roach and Fenrir, the soft echoes of hooves and the gentle rustle of straw beneath their massive bodies greeted her. 

The stable walls offered a quiet refuge, and with a graceful hop, she found herself perched atop them, legs swinging idly. 

The world below seemed to pause as she settled into her makeshift throne, the sturdy wood beneath her providing a sense of familiarity.

The sky above was a canvas painted with an array of clouds, each telling a story as they danced across the azure expanse. 

Wisps of cotton-like formations mingled with darker, brooding masses, creating a tapestry that shifted and transformed with the whims of the wind. 

Nefeli's eyes traced the contours of the clouds, finding shapes and figures.

She pondered the stories they whispered, wondering if they held secrets or foretold the destiny that awaited her on the horizon. 

The air carried a hint of moisture, a promise of rain. 

She'd always loved the rain. It hit your skin and washed everything away. Left you clean and empty.

It was a technique she'd used in Ker Morhen. Whenever she felt something she knew would weigh her down, she stepped out into the storms and rain that raged on the mountain. 

It left her bare. 

It had begun when she was a child. When she had been but a child under Vesemir's care. 

She'd asked him a question, without understanding its meaning. 

The question, innocent and pure, had escaped her lips like a fragile butterfly seeking understanding. 

"Do you love me?" she had asked, her eyes wide with curiosity. 

She didn't know what love was, or what it felt like but she had imagined that it made you feel safe, as Vesemir did.

She had never seen the old man so still before. Like a tall tree unmoved by the winds. 

"I don't know what that is," he had replied, his voice gruff and cold. 

He had then sent her out into the cold to train. Alone. Where she found that storms, washed it all away.

She had never asked the question again, letting it linger in the air like an unspoken spell. 

"You mentioned coin?" Nefeli couldn't help but feel a knot tighten in her stomach as the dark, deep voice interrupted the tranquillity of her thoughts. 

She turned to find a young girl standing beside Geralt, excitement radiating from her like a beacon. 

She had dark brown hair braided across her head like a crown. Nefeli found she liked the look of it. 

Long loose-fitting skirts and tunic covered her small body as her brown eyes flew to the horses in front of her. 

"Isadora said you were looking for my father. She's a gossip, couldn't help herself. Barely two steps out of the inn and she was already spreading word of an evil Witcher," the girl explained, her words flowing with a mix of delight.