To Trust a Witcher

Life Goes On

For the first week, I considered Eskel's words and followed Geralt's command, stopping training altogether. 

Luckily, Eskel has stayed true to his word and has guided me on daily hiking trips around the Kaer Morhen, so it has given me something to do with my time. Lambert, Eskel, and I have also taken up some cooking classes with Vesemir, so hopefully, the food will slowly start tasting better than before. 

The awkwardness between Geralt and I has been fairly high during the beginning of the week, but slowly, it has ebbed away. Now, we can sit in the same room together without the tension strangling us. 

Regarding my wounds, the small cuts have already completely healed. The bigger ones, are smaller than before, and my bruises have since become green instead of the dark blue and purple previously seen.

I really am trying to compose myself and resist training. I am glad that with Eskel, I can keep working on my stamina and endurance as we climb up and down the nearby mountains, but still, my body wants to do more. It has turned me restless. Honesty, I cannot even remember what I had done with my free time in the past. 

As for my nightmares, they've only worsened since the decree of no training. I keep seeing myself with a sword in my hand, but unable to wield it correctly. It only takes a few seconds for the Black Knight to let it fly out of my hands and kill me. 

"Do we ever have any coffee?" I grumble, pouring some cold water into my cup. My eyes hurt from the lack of sleep I have endured over the past night. I have only managed to get an hour of sleep in before a nightmare wrestled me awake. Since then, I have been wide awake, staring at the cracks of the ceiling in my room and counting them again and again. Now the number of cracks, 64, is ingrained in my mind. 

"Coffee? What the hell is coffee?" Lambert yells from the table.

I don't need to see Eskel to know that he is rolling his eyes right now. "Coffee is a drink mainly found in Nilfgaard, since that's the only place that's hot enough for it to grow. It is drunk during the morning and helps you wake up."

"So it's magic?" Lambert says through a mouthful of porridge.

I sit down next to Eskel, joining him, Coen, Lambert, and Geralt by the table. 

"It's not magic," Coen answers this time, "It's as if you would call ale magic." His attention turns to me. "Why do you even want coffee, Ciri? I thought it was too bitter for children."

"I just like the bitter taste; that's all." I shove a spoonful of porridge in my mouth, so that I could pretend like I'm eating instead of avoiding the conversation. 

I feel Geralt's eyes narrow at me. I can already see the gears in his heard turning. Damn him and his ability to put the pieces together; the last thing I want him to know is that the nightmares have worsened. Though, I doubt that my red-cracked eyes or the number of yawns I've already racked up help my situation of staying inconspicuous. 

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding when I watch Geralt stop studying me and turn back to his food.

Out of nowhere, my stomach erupts in pain. I inhale sharply as I tightly squeeze the handle of the spoon in my fist, locking my jaw so no sound can escape from me. 

What the hell is happening? I grip the edge of the table as another sharp pain hits me from the inside. I barely sense a splinter entering my palm from how tightly I am holding the table, too focused on the feeling of my intestines being ripped apart within me. 

Oh gods, did I have some sort of parasite in me? Was it eating my stomach from the inside? There's no way I am going to survive this. 

I drop my spoon, and it lands with a loud clang on my plate.