HEART | Geralt

07

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The fog was setting over the forest outside of Blaviken, setting a rather eery tone had the Witchers not been used to such a surrounding. Azalea found herself wincing as she sat a little way off from where her friend stood by Roach. She kept the bloodied cloth - the only thing she had to cover her wound - pressed against her face.

She was stupid, she knew that. Why anger a girl of whom had murdered puppies, tortured innocent birds and murdered a maid? Why anger a girl that seemed to act on instinct rather than logic?

Azalea couldn't answer her own questions, to which led her to stare off into the distance. She could hear faint crickets chirping and the birds singing out their songs. She took in a shuddering breath before slowly peeling away the cloth and resting it onto the ground. She tried to blink, to see if she were able to do so without being in pain, and when a throb and pinch encased her eye when she tried to blink, it was safe to say Azalea got her answer.

"Shit." She cussed with a disappointed shake of her head. How could she be so foolish? Taking off her gloves, she raised a smooth finger to her cheek where she gently - albeit painfully - ran it down the new wound which was undoubtably deeper than the previous time and a little more jagged.

"That needs to be cleaned." His gruff and deep, relaxing voice called out from behind her. Azalea twisted her body to be able to see him better, and yet he almost scowled at her and looked like he was telling off a child with how his muscular arms were crossed over his chest, slightly flexing the muscles-

"Hm." Azalea hummed, clearing her throat to try and stop herself from fixating on the little details of Geralt that she hadn't taken notice to before. Her red cat's-eyes looked away from Geralt and towards the trees once more, seemingly ignoring his claim.

"Come on." He gripped her arm, practically forcing her to stand, before dragging her towards Roach. He wasn't accepting "no" or a hum for an answer. He made her sit by the base of a tree whilst he grabbed a bowl, filling it with water from his waterskin and grabbing a dry, un-bloodied cloth. "You know what Vesemir would say." He then said, aiming to distract Azalea as he knelt down on one knee, bowl in hand with the damp cloth in the other.

"Don't be so stupid?" Azalea questioned, hissing slightly as Geralt began to work at cleaning her face. 

""Witchers shouldn't play at being white knights"." Geralt corrected her, chuckling as softly as she could. ""We shouldn't try and uphold the law. We don't show off. We get paid in coin"."

"He never believed we should tarry ourselves in others' affairs." Azalea then commented, humming to herself before wincing as Geralt continued.

"He was right." Geralt grinned slightly, reminiscing the many lectures the older Witcher had given them in their youth. "Want to hear about my first monster?"

"Wasn't it the grave hag near, uh, oh fuck, what was the place called?" Whilst Azalea was distracted on trying to remember the place of which she thought Geralt had first slewn a monster, the Witcher had pressed a tad harsher onto her new wound, of which elicited a yelp. He felt guilty for it, but he knew it had to be done. 

"Stop squirming." He mumbled, shaking his head. "And the grave hag was just before the beginning of my first winter as a Witcher. I was near Olena's Grove." Azalea's mouth hung open slightly, and taking the time to make the most of it, Geralt picked up some grasp subtly and shoved it in her mouth.

"Ew-fuck-ugh-gross, Geralt!" She spat the grass out as much as she could, gagging as thoughts of creatures like foxes pissing all over it. She shivered and looked towards her friend with outrage. He grinned slyly, knowing that she wasn't mad at him in reality.