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❝ Something in you will always know of that pain. ❞
Filavandrel aén Fidháil
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My field of vision contracted to a single dark spot, then disappeared altogether, leaving not darkness, but a bright void. I was overcome with the nauseating feeling of being pulled inside out. My consciousness returned to me in a number of small separate sensations, like broken fragments being pulled together; the roughness of the ground beneath me, the sound of people shouting in the distance and the warmth of hands pressed against mine.
I felt sick and dizzy, a guttural groan escaping me as I struggled to open my eyes. My head felt as if it were splitting apart and I could feel the flakiness of dried blood running from my temple to my jaw. "Geralt?"
"Ros," The warmth pressed against my hand twitched and wriggled until I felt long, rough fingers curl around mine.
The tension in my body relaxed, only for a moment. I'm not alone, I thought in relief. The walls of the cave were of smooth, dark volcanic rock, almost like black glass. There were a number of bundles piled against the far side; tools and instruments sat upon crates. Beams of sunlight seeped through a narrow entrance, engulfed by the cave's void before it could grace our skin.
"I'm here as well, in case anybody was worried," Jaskier added, his voice close to my ear and I turned my head at the sound. Geralt, Jaskier and I were sitting in the middle of the cave, shoulder to shoulder, and our hands bound together in the same one rope. "This is the part where we escape."
"This is the part where they kill us." Geralt growled at the bard, pulling against the rope which bound us.
I turned my head towards Geralt, his white hair tickling my cheek. Whoever had grabbed me during our encounter with the Sylvan, I had not seen them. "Who's they?" Just as I asked, two tall figures walked through the narrow entrance, silhouetted against the light shining in from behind them.
