The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Four

Outside Vizima, 1239

Robin sighed to herself. She knew there was no point in going after Geralt. He'd be able to easily outpace her on the horse, and even if she could articulate herself better, she didn't have anything new to say.

She couldn't help but feel that she'd made a mess of everything. If she had just presented herself more rationally, maybe he would have listened to her.

But deep down, she knew that was just her anxious brain talking. He wasn't concerned, and that had nothing to do with her. It was all about the situation. She couldn't make him react differently through sheer force of will, as much as she wanted to.

At least he'd given her things back. She swung the bag off of one shoulder and around to her front to check if he'd taken anything. She assumed that provisions were hard for him to come by, especially if he ended up in a place that wasn't friendly to witchers.

Surprisingly, though, there was nothing missing. Perhaps it was his subtle way of thanking her for her help. She was sure he would have managed just fine without her. She wasn't so arrogant as to think she had made a huge difference to him. But it was nice to be acknowledged.

She rolled her eyes and put her rucksack back on properly. She was giving him far too much credit. He had left her here by herself and barely listened to her, and she was acting like he was being nice because he hadn't stolen from her. Not stealing was something you were just supposed to do.

As much as she didn't want to, she was going to take his advice and head back to the city. She could try to portal again, but didn't want to risk it, considering her inexperience. Maybe there was a mage in the city who would help her by taking her in and giving her some better training. Of course, there was always a risk that Yennefer had contacted others besides Melcedem, but she was just going to have to find that out the hard way. She was hoping that Yennefer had limited her contacts to outcasts like him. She'd be unlikely to encounter any of those unless she was trying.

She didn't need Geralt of Rivia. She was perfectly capable of figuring everything out on her own.

Meanwhile, Geralt patted Roach's mane, his head tilted to the side as he slowly cantered down the road in the opposite direction. He was going slower than he normally would because he was listening.

He knew the mage hadn't followed him. Truthfully, he was surprised. He hadn't thought she would give up that easily. She was a determined little thing. Then again, she also seemed to have a decent sense of self-preservation, and that probably prevented her from foolishly pursuing him.

She'd been quite skilled in the graveyard. He'd sensed that most of it was accidental, but it meant she had great potential. If she could find someone to train her, she could be formidable. But he wasn't a mage, and it wasn't his job to find strays places to go.

And he'd told her the truth about what she'd overheard. Even if a sorceress was planning something like what she'd explained, it was highly likely that it would never come to pass. He had seen enough plans collapse to know better than to panic about every new whispered plot.

Still, something was gnawing at him. He just couldn't quite place what.

Then he heard it. Footsteps on the road, rather far behind him now. Closer to the city gates. He pulled Roach gently to a stop and turned her around.

There were several of them. Their steps were hasty, angry. He heard a few words rise above the general din of their conversation.

"Witcher."

"Necromancer."

"Abominations both."

He had Roach moving before he could hear anything else. She was in danger, and it was because of him. He couldn't stand by when that was the case.