the angels hidden blade

SEVEN

They rode in complete silence, the passage of time marked by the changing hues of the sky. 

The morning turned into afternoon, which, in turn, transformed into dusk. 

Nefeli was aware of the vast expanse of the forest that separated Ker Morhen from the realm beyond. 

It was a considerable distance to traverse, and the sheer size of the forest was one of the factors that made Ker Morhen an impenetrable fortress.

As they descended from the mountain that cradled the stony walls of the fortress, Nefeli knew they were putting a considerable distance between themselves and the only home she had ever known. 

The landscape unfolded before them, and the forest stretched out endlessly.

The only sounds that surrounded her were the chirping of small birds, the rustle of leaves stirred by the wind, and the occasional snorting of the horses. 

The White Wolf rode in front of her, his posture determined, as if trying to forget that she was even there. 

Nefeli didn't mind; in fact, she preferred it that way. The silence between them felt less heavy when he chose to ignore her presence.

Just as she wondered if they were going to ride through the night, Geralt came to an abrupt halt. 

Without giving her a glance, he slid from the back of Roach and moved with purpose. 

Nefeli watched from the back of Fenrir as he efficiently grabbed a bundle of fur and tied Roach's reins to a nearby tree. 

The air was thick with the sound of Fenrir's heavy breathing as he, too, seemed to welcome the temporary respite.

Nefeli remained seated on Fenrir, observing Geralt's movements with quiet curiosity. 

Geralt gathered some sticks from the ground and threw them into a bundle, creating the foundation for a fire. 

Digging into his pack, he retrieved flint and struck it against his knife, igniting a spark that soon caught the sticks ablaze. 

Nefeli watched in silence as he laid out a fur and seated himself upon it. Only then did his amber gaze shift to her.

"Rest now. We won't for the next few days," he stated, his attention already turning back to the fire he was building. 

Nefeli nodded in acknowledgment, acknowledging the truth in his words. The road ahead was long and demanding.

She slid from the back of Fenrir, not wanting to sleep too close to a killer, even one a few paces away. 

Taking her own furs, she led Fenrir to a tree, securing him there before laying her fur down close to the fire but far enough away from the White Wolf.

Seated on the fur, Nefeli took in her surroundings. 

The crackling of the fire was a comforting sound, the warmth it emitted chasing away the chill of the night. 

The scent of burning wood mingled with the earthy fragrance of the forest, and she could feel the subtle rustle of leaves carried by a gentle breeze.

As she gazed into the flickering flames, the silence of the night was punctuated by the occasional hoot of an owl and the distant murmur of a babbling brook. 

The air was filled with a mixture of scents—pine from the surrounding trees and the dampness of moss-covered rocks. 

Sliding her pack from around her chest, Nefeli took out a small piece of meat.