WOLVES WITHOUT TEETH ( geralt of rivia.. )

002. the heavy mark..

"And this is yours." A thin medallion fell tangled on the inner curve of Azaras' palm, bearing its farewells to its craftsman's hand, from Eskel's crooked talent to melting and carving a symbol worthy of the newest member to their "family".

He couldn't have just taken one from the many souls hanging by the tree's branches, for each carried a story and a ghost, each bore marks leaving almost no room for Azaras too to pitch her own tale to the enchantment of a metal.

"Mine?" She seemed, as he expected, to watch the piece with a strangely familiar joy. Only children got this happy, holding in their very hands perhaps the first and only toy their childhood may ever brighten up for.

With care, she took the thin chain off the stamped mark of the Witchers, grazed her thumb over the head of the wolf and the prominent circle. Ultimately, Azaras found herself in a swirl without distinction, forgetting about the coldness of the courtyard, the exhaustion of the day she spent away getting the very bare minimum out of the magic skill she was supposed to have and was expected to conquer.

"All yours," Eskel confirmed with a generous nod. For someone brazed by so many scars carrying such deeply agreen upon ugliness, amongst all the Witchers she met there, Azaras felt Eskel was the one who did not deserve half of the cruelty of the emotionless rumor, nor anything less than the beauty his heart effortlessly still beat to the rhythm of.

But she haven't met that many Witchers from Geralt's entourage to begin with; to compare the four Witchers she knew amongst themselves was almost as impossible as ranking fish and cats by same criteria.

Azaras was starting to feel quite lucky, closing her hand first on the circular medallion, to feel the rough edges of imperfection and call them to her chest, around her neck, as the most she's ever received. Because all honors in her family, no matter how liked she was by commoners, went to her brother. For once, she had something to call her own, something that she felt it had been earned.

With her medallion rested beside the purple pebble hidden under her belt and pressed to her blouse, Azaras thanked the man hy embracing the brotherhood, quite literally. Azaras' may have been a lot less bulky than the usual Witchers, but the tightness and strength of her arms wrapping around Eskel all of a sudden, proved to him the story Geralt told about her ripping a monster open with just her hands may as well have been true.

The hug kicked out air from his lungs in an unexpected gasp. Eskel skillfully turned that surprise into a chuckle and much quicker to react to the rather fast embrace, holding his elbows tight to both sides of his body, a position highly unfamiliar to him, he reached only his right hand to pat the small of Azaras' back in return.

This medallion laid a cold feeling over the scar still brightly breezing the side of her neck, right over her collarbone. There, a sacramental obscurity made Eskel shiver from one glance, remembering what he ought to ask. He had asked Geralt the same thing only earlier in the morning. Now, snow was following gentle patterns, through a grey sunset on a horizon of rolling coal clouds. Darkness was seething in as generously as the scent of monster filth and blood, from all the piles of heads brought back from local hunts by Lambert and Geralt.

There would be a good fire of those poisons, warming their beds soon.

"You and Geralt," Eskel started, separation from Azaras making him clear his throat. The beginning of a curiosity tremored a little peak of attention in the woman, so she tamed her urge to go inside and rest at last. "You two seem very different since the last time he brought you here."

Her confusion, divulged into the frown of her eyebrows, was very much adequate. Of course, many things have changed, because times tend to do that to people and souls, both versatile and flexible, unless close to death. Heck, Azaras even died in the process of these inevitable changes. Eskel had to be more specific unless he was expecting them to sit down and talk for an entire night about just how much has happened.