WOLVES WITHOUT TEETH ( geralt of rivia.. )

004. gamble your life away..

Azaras was hurried to leave through the front gate as soon as the sunrise settled a frozen, cloudless morning to shine upon Kaer Morhen's desolated view. When the bright light casts over the fortress, all its missing pieces on the outer walls suddenly seem sadder to be seen so clearly; the home of the Witchers was scarred out there, where the fireplace did not give off as much benevolence as it did inside.

The doors opened before Azaras got to them and Geralt stepped through, weary and covered in snow. White frost fell in place amongst his similar locks of hair and each line of snow felt at home to braze his shoulders, stick to the armor, the cloak and his gloves.

Suspicious, Geralt ended up closing the door and tilting his head at Azaras, who too expected to be questioned for just how much of her gear she was wearing. Behind her, hanging of tight and careful straps, wrapped over her own cloak for the long road, were her bow, her quiever of arrows, stacked and her single sword. Her blouse was tied to the very bottom of neck once more and the plates have been fastened over her chest to her waist. In her pouch, the one potion she still had from Eskel was hiding, next to the purple pebble she moved beside it.

"You're going somewhere," Geralt pointed out in a calm mannerism, blocking though Azaras way out.

She smiled immediately, unashamed to stepping closer until her right hand hooked its fingers on the hem of Geralt's trousers. It was so much easier to make him move aside from that point of control. "I made a bet."

"A bet?" He insisted a little longer, lingering closer to the urge of looking down at her hand. It was a relief to see her smile, forget all about the incident with the monster in the yard.

"I made a bet with Lambert." Her correction of the same phrase dawned Geralt to remaining permanently still and refusing to move completely away from the door. He was not going to raise his hand and stop that massive gate from opening again, but he needed far more detail to what seemed like a bad idea.

Under his glare, Azaras sighed, "I felt ashamed after the scene I caused from the monster attack and one thing led to another, now I have to prove to Lambert that I am up to the work involved with being a Witcher. Meaning that I will go out, make his monthly winnings in a day and be back before tomorrow's distgusting dinner."

Surprisingly Witchers were not good cooks, despite how often they had to fend for themselves on the roads. Part of the blame could be taken by their overall resistance to feeling any of their needs, as for rest, hunger or even thirst. A glossary of details about Witcher, encapsulated by their very religion for the coin, the only reward.

Lambert was at the table, still rolling his bandage shoulder back and forth, easing the reticence of his muscles. A game of cards happened on the surface between him and Eskel, when Geralt appeared beside, a hand on Lambert's collar. He pulled him from the game and dropped him back on his seat just ti get his attention.

Factually, Lambert expect a prompt reaction from him so without even anything more than a grunt, he already knew what Geralt wished to say, and answered ahead. "She was being miserable, lover boy. So I did the nice thing of reminding her there is nothing that makes a Witcher feel worthy again quite like earning coin off of what we do best as killers."

A crooked grin bellowed amused into his laughter, scratching on Geralt's very tensed nerves. "It may have turned into a little bet, since she's quite the prideful woman apparently," Lambert scooped his not so njmb hand into his trousers and dropped next on the table, beside his cards, Azaras' medallion.

Eskel too, though seeing his creation there, seemed calm. "She said she'll come back for it when she'd done her side of the bet," Lambert shrugged and let his hand leave the metal, return to the cards of the game.