The White Wolf and A Stray Puppy

Ambushed

Over the next few years the three of us plus our horses traveled together. Geralt and I fought monsters all over the Continent while Jaskier wrote his songs about the witcher's heroic feats.

We often sat around the campfire in the wild, eating, joking, the bard singing and the grumpy witcher complaining, but secretly enjoying the situation.

When we were in town though, the picture was completely different. Geralt would sit in the corner and brood, like always, Jaskier would sing and I would stand in the middle of the room, paying attention to the crowd. Many people came to me when they wanted something from the witcher, as the tall man clad in black leather armor didn't exactly look approachable. I would lead them to the witcher, tell him their issue and let them negotiate the payment. Other times men would approach me and try to get me into their bed; I was after all the only girl around wearing only a loose blouse, a corset and tight leather pants. I wasn't sure if they chose to ignore the various weapons strapped to my body, or if they, in their lust induced haze, just didn't see them. It was almost hilarious to watch Jaskier in these moments. He would tense up, all protective, unsure if he should confront the man or not. But he wasn't as experienced as me when it came to combat, so when a man grabbed me all it took from me was a quick movement of my arm and the man's wrist would be broken. No one in that town would ever try to touch me again. But luckily that didn't happen often, most of the time as simple growl of 'go away' was enough; they knew better than mess with an armed woman, especially when she was traveling with a witcher.

***

Right now we were in a small town in Lyria. Geralt was tense, he grew up around here. The town we were staying in was shady, but it promised good money. Over years villagers disappeared and the few bodies that were found covered in bite and claw marks. We're dealing with a hellhound, for sure. It simply all fit together: an exceedingly shady town and all the people that had disappeared were known criminals.

We searched for the beast in the forest, where the bodies had been found, our weapons drawn, ready to charge at anything that might attack us. I had asked Jaskier to stay at the inn, this hunt was more dangerous that the ones before, but he stubbornly refused. "How can I write the ballade when I'm not there to witness the feat?" he had said. So now we were here, searching for a fucking hellhound, which was already fucking dangerous, even for someone as experienced as Geralt, while we also had to look out for the bard, who had zero experience in the matter of monster hunting.

Two pairs of watchful eyes inspected every bush, every tiny movement; the witcher's fine senses capturing even the faintest sound or smell. The bard trotting behind us was already contemplating the perfect rhyme for 'hellhound', and no, he was not doing so quietly. Geralt was tense. I knew he was trying to hold back from yelling at the bard, so I decided to step in. I turned to my brother and whisper-yelled at him. "For the love of the gods above, Jas, shut the fuck up! You're going to get us all killed if you keep that up! Who is going to sing about Geralt then, huh?" to my surprise, it worked. Growing pale Jaskier looked at me, finally understanding the seriousness of our mission. "Sorry," he breathed.

We continued our search, for what felt like hours, when suddenly...

The witcher in front of me stopped and held out an arm, signifying for us to halt. It all happened so fast that I almost ran into the broad man, and Jaskier ran into me. "It's here," the witcher breathed out, almost too quiet to hear. Quickly reaching into the bag on his belt he pulled out a vial filled with black liquid – one of his potions – and chugged it, his eyes turning black almost instantly. The bard behind me grabbed my arm, this must be the first time he'd seen Geralt like this. I just glanced at his, a reassuring smile on my face, but then I noticed: Jaskier was completely unarmed! Without further ado I handed him my sword, hoping he'd figure out how to use it, and grabbed my bow and arrow for myself, ready to aim at the beast, once it decided to show itself.

A low growl was all we heard at first. Then the rustling of the bushed around us. Following the movement of the leaves with my eyes I realized that the hellhound was circling us, plotting to attack us from behind – where Jaskier stood; the weakest of our company! I whipped around and let my arrow fly at the spot where the leaves had last rustled. A mixture of howl and growl was heard – I had hit the beast – and then it burst out from the bushes. The large dog-like creature charged at us with fiery eyes. The witcher lunged at it with his steel sword, causing the animal to yelp. Seeing the beast occupied for a moment I lead Jaskier further away from the fight, positioning myself in front of him and aiming at the hellhound, trying to get a clear shot at its eyes. I let my arrow fly, careful not to shoot the witcher by accident. I missed, the arrow hitting the beast's shoulder. The animal's confusion at the sudden pain though gave the witcher enough time to thrust his sword down through the hellhound's skull and into the ground, pinning the twitching body down.

But the relief was short-lived. Snarling, another hellhound jumped out of the bushes behind Jaskier. Without thinking I threw myself in front of my brother, the beast's fangs piercing the skin on my shoulder. I screamed out in excruciating pain, collecting all my senses to grab a dagger from my belt and thrust it up into the beast's gut. With a yelp it finally let go of me, the witcher already there to strike it down. I was pulled away from the fight by my now extremely antsy brother, who had taken off his beloved doublet, balled it up and pressed it against my shoulder to stop the bleeding. My eyes grew heavy and my hearing faded, as if somebody was covering my ears. "Stay with me, Nienna! You hear me?! Don't fall asleep!" a worried voice reached my cloudy brain, my breathing becoming ragged. The noises of the fight had stopped and I could faintly hear a shout of 'Geralt, help!'. Then a shadow loomed over my eyes, the uncorking of a vial was heard and the pressure on my shoulder disappeared. It was replaced by a white-hot pain – Geralt was pouring one of his potions into the deep wound. I screamed, louder than I had ever screamed before, writhing on the ground, the iron grip of the two men holding me down. One of them grabbed my head, forcing my mouth open. "Drink!" came a command. And I did. The liquid tasted awful, leaving a burning sensation in my mouth down to my stomach. The pressure on my shoulder returned and I was lifted from the ground, my vision blurry I could see Jaskier's worried face next to me. Geralt was carrying me. Both of them repeatedly told me to stay awake, to not give in, but it was easier for them to say than it was for me to do. Waves of darkness crashed my vision, my eyelids feeling heavier by the minute.

Finally I felt something soft beneath my body; my surroundings still a blurry mess. "I need hot water and bandages! Now!" the booming voice of the witcher broke through my fogged brain, and for a second I could see my brother's worried face staring at me, one of his hands cradling mine, the other still pressing his by now soaked doublet to my shoulder. The witcher came over to the bed. "Thank the gods hellhounds aren't venomous. We only have to get the damn bleeding to stop," he said in an attempt to calm Jas down. My brother just looked down at me and held my hand tighter. That was the last thing I remembered before I passed out.