White Wolves

Trying to Blend In

The wolf pup was peculiar, and that was an understatement. Maybe it really wasn't well, and he was taking a gamble on a creature that was not going to last the night? It had been too keen to approach him, had been too trusting, and was currently cuddled in against his skin, tucked into the shirt he wore, unbothered by the sway of the horse beneath them, by the fact that what was essentially a human was cradling it. Maybe the poor beast was just hungry for some warmth and softness after being camped up under that tattered cloak in the woods. He tried not to think too hard about any of it as they carried on towards town, the late afternoon sun shining down on them, coating the road in an orange that would be pretty, if the glare hadn't been in his eyes.

The town soon came into view, and regardless of the buildings beginning to loom in the distance, he could tell they were close, as there began to be more traffic, other people with horses, a man with a few goats passed him by. The livestock maaah'd as they passed, and if the creatures had spotted the predator tucked in the witcher's shirt, then their minder didn't seem to care about much apart from getting to where he was headed. Geralt tried to shove the bundle of damp fur further into his clothing, grunting softly as he felt claws scrabble and scratch at the skin. People looked at him enough, he didn't need to be looking like he was trying to sneak something in. Maybe he should have put the animal in a saddlebag instead? Luckily, being shoved a bit lower seemed to suit the baby wolf, and it stayed put for long enough.

Long enough for the guards at the perimeter of the town to frown at him as they usually did, eye him as if he were here to cause trouble, and for one of them to gesture to the slowly dripping roughspun bag that was attached to his saddle (because of course, they'd stopped him upon seeing what he was). After telling them it was the head of a monster, and some other grim bits, one of the guards looked about ready to vomit, and the other had paled, but had at least offered up some good information - which was that they did in fact have a healer that dabbled in using unorthodox ingredients, and that if he spoke to one of the local landowners who usually frequented the tavern at the centre of town, he'd likely pay for the fact the creatures had been slain. Why, Geralt wasn't sure, perhaps he simply lived in fear, or perhaps his fields were close to the swampy area, and were easily waterlogged, and he worried all manner of monsters would drag themselves there. That would not be the case, but he wasn't going to argue with the information, and so nodded, thanked the guards, and was grateful that they hadn't looked at him too much longer, as the lump in his shirt had started to wriggle. He didn't need them thinking he had some demon inside him, or whatever it was that fearful humans thought witchers contained.

With safe passage into the town, he rode for as long as he possibly could, but the road became narrow, and into more of a walkway between a few buildings, and after a few grumbles at locals almost being trod on by his mare, he decided it may be better to slip from the saddle and walk. This meant that he not only had to concentrate on Roach, where he was going, but he had to be extra careful of the wolf that was huddled in his clothing. He paused, and then grabbed for his cloak rolled up and attached near a saddlebag, throwing it over his shoulders - the weather was mediocre enough that he could get away with wearing it, and that meant that the lump he was cuddling against him wouldn't be noticeable at all. Besides, as they walked further into the centre of the town, the buildings became more clustered together, brickwork became more normal for the more expensive builds, and there were even some two storey structures - the most prominent being the tavern in all it's glory across from the market square. The main streets and the trails of path off of the primary walkways too became more busy with people, and the white haired man spotted the man with the noisy goats not too far away from him. It seemed that he was perhaps going to the other side of the town, though. It was too late for market, and it would be too costly to stay overnight with livestock. He didn't get much time to ponder the goings on of the man, because someone bumped to him, but nothing escalated, and he simply sniffed, brushing the person off, making a beeline for the tavern, past the merchants still in the square, attempting to make a last minute deal in the late afternoon. He heard them clamouring even before he found the open area of the centre of town.