WOLVES WITHOUT TEETH ( geralt of rivia.. )

001. coins go to witchers..

What no good sailor will ever tell the wandering souls foolish enough to step on putrid decks and creaky floors is that the longer you spend on the sea, the more peaceful the land of lurking monsters seems. Monsters lurk anywhere in the God forsaken world, for anything godly has long forgotten about their flawed creation there, but it is the land which paints the difference between having a chance to live or living on the waves of certain doom.

Sincerely, its the cowards the sea cannot accept, those who hide behind words, or lack of them, and pretend to conceal their fears. Where there is no running, there is no hiding; those who cannot swim, simply drown.

A suffocating sickness was what was drowning Azaras barely two days into the unpleasantly long trip they have commenced. The harbors of Novigrad were no longer even spikes upon the horizon they left behind. Everywhere were waves and onto them the ship rocked the people it allowed to travel not into sleep, but rather into mixing the empty stomachs to saturation, under the pale blue sky, cloudless stillness of few warmth.

No one seemed to be experiencing the faintness of knees quite as much as Azaras, born and raised for generations into heights of mountains, not lows of the beaches and hallowed waters. She did look around, at every member of the crew, but each time she thought she had counted them all, more winded up on deck and the number changed. So far, apart from her, Geralt, Jaskier and Yennefer, she had took into consideration fourteen more sailors and, of course, the imaginary image of the captain, who Yennefer said was there, but he'd rarely leave his chambers while they are awake.

Nineteen people were rocked by this ship and Azaras felt the weight of it all, already leaning against the railing, beneath which the gunports flaps were shut closed and bracing through the rather gentle waves. She had considered fresh air to be the cure to the unwell essence tempering her spirits, but apart from a clearer mind, Azaras gained no reprieve by moving her standing on the deck, rather than the hull.

"Who would have thought...?" She started mumbling, as soon as the steps trailed by her side were recognized by her sensitive senses as known. Her head turned so, to the side, not lifting it higher than just fixing her chin upon her arms, rested still on the margins, just to smile towards Yennefer. "Seasickness."

Unlike the Witcher, the witch was holding herself together well, looking as pristine as the morning they left the harbor. Her purple eyes were finding a home in the mirroring of the infinite sea, weavers of unbowing strength. A certain mystery lingered around Yennefer, while she too felt the warmth of a pleasant tingle finally emanating off of Azaras, unlike the last time they met.

"You certainly wouldn't have known, were you to have remained on land all your life," Yennefer passed a small bottle to Azaras. "That will give you a bit of a breather, to be able to walk the deck, not just grasp the edges."

In the fraction of hesitation that existed in Azaras' mind before taking the witch's gift came only the memory of last night's worries, shared by Geralt about the whole ordeal. Azaras never truly cared what his and Yennefer's past meant, nor did she get wounded by the reasonable thoughts that he had passed many loves in his longer life, as long as she was going to be the last, but the amount of stress Geralt was pressing upon the implications of the mage in this journey was concerning to say at least.

Either way, she took the bottle, opened it and drank. Immediately, her face scrunched in a pinching sensation down her throat and generous laugh helped her straighten up, "Your solution is alcohol?"

"It really works," Yennefer took the bottle back and siped just enough to wet her tongue's tip, tingle the roof of her mouth or just tease the meat under her teeth. After that, she too glanced at the sea, with a thoughtful sigh.