Her mouth curved into a small and gentle smile at the compliment. Nobody had ever commented on her food, never mind the fact that only a handful of people had eaten it. She took a bite herself, covering up the fact that she had allowed a smile to pass her walls. Sara searched for something to say, anything, but the first things that came to mind were bold questions that most any woman wouldn't dare utter, let alone think. She had no way of knowing how many women Gawel knew, but with a handsome face such as his, Sara figured that he had left behind his share of broken hearts everywhere he went. It was true she was naive about most things considering witchers, but she knew where women were concerned, Gawel was qualified to be called handsome and charming.

As she finished her soup, she set the bowl down beside her, trying not to openly study him. When she was in her schooling days, one of her favorite past-times was people watching. Arianna had told her that learning to surmize someone up quickly was a good skill to have, and thus encouraged it, but Sara had just plain enjoyed watching how people did things differently. It had been several years since she had been in a town, let alone a city, but she didn't think things would have changed that much. Watching women eat was like watching a bird eat, they took small bites daintily and slowly, but with the men... you would think that all men were half starved by the way she had seen some eat, inhaling their food like a dying man in a desert consumes water. Gawel was different. He fit somewhere in the middle, and while Sara could definitely spot the very male way he held the spoon, he ate with care, almost savoring the stew before swallowing it. She had to say, she was impressed with him.

Her teal eyes widened slightly in alarm. Had she just said that out loud? Told him she was impressed? Sara could feel the blush returning to her cheeks. What was it about this man that had her all in a dither? Her carefully constructed walls of defense were crumbling around her pointed ears, all with just a look from that perfect shade of his bright emerald eyes.

Gawel finished the excelent stew and rested the bowl before him. He could feel Sara's eyes on him again and he bit back a retort; he was going to say that didn't her mother ever teach her it was rude to stare, then thought that, in light of what she had told him of her family and how telling him had affected her, it might be a little tactless to say such a thing so he kept his silence. Reaching up, he tucked the two white locks of hair that framed his face behind his ears, the rest of the black hair falling to cover the locks apart from at the roots, and turned to look at Sara for the first time since he asked her about her ears. In time to catch her eyes widening and a blush spreading to her face.

He smiled a crooked smile then. "You certainly are unusual," he said quietly, and the kindness in his eyes let her knew that he didn't mean it as an insult. It was merely an observation since, while she had been rather openly observing him, he had been more subtle about it. He was interested in observing people but that was because he had been kept away from people that weren't witchers his whole life. Even when one had visited Kaer Morhen, which had happened on occasion, he had been forbidden from seeing or speaking to them.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what has come over me. I'm usually not so bold, or this chatty." She pulled a lock of hair around her shoulder and began to run her fingers through it, trying to keep herself busy. She willed the blush out of her cheeks and turned her eyes back towards him. She had noticed the white streaks in his hair, but had thought they were caused by either scarring on his scalp, or the witcher mutations. "I've never actually met a witcher before, and all of the people who come here for help are less than thrilled at the idea of talking with me."

She reached over and took his bowl, being very careful not to touch him, and placed it inside her own bowl. Standing, she took the stew off of the fire and went back to her kitchen corner. Se plopped the dirty bowls and utensils in her sink, then turned to the stew. With a single wave of her hand, she froze it solid. Satisfied, she set it back in her ice box. How did one treat a house guest? If she had people staying here overnight, they were generally unconscious, or she made them that way to help with whatever pain they were in.

Mentally building up her walls against this new, and ever so alluring, threat, she sat next to him again, bringing her tea up to her light pink lips. She took a sip and hoped that it would settle her frazzled nerves. "I'm afraid I'm not the best conversationalist."

"I've never actually met a witcher before, and all of the people who come here for help are less than thrilled at the idea of talking with me."

"Well I've never met a sorceress before either," he said, that same half smile on his face as he watched her go about her business. "Or had much to do with any women, either, for that matter," he added quietly as an aside.

"I'm afraid I'm not the best conversationalist."

He chuckled at that, a soft laugh, deep in his throat. "Don't worry about that. Neither am I. Most people see me and shout, A witcher! Hide your women! or some other such nonsense," he said, doing a pretty good parody of the noblemen who usually said such things, if he did say so himself. "I've gotten used to solitude. Though I do usually look forward to wintering at Kaer Morhen each year," he said. Last year he had even been roped into helping a couple of apprentices and he was looking forward to seeing how much they had progressed. And if any of them still lived. After all, the mortality rate of witcher apprentices was rather high.

"Perhaps I should relieve you of your unease then and make use of your spare bed," he said, getting up, a little stiffly and still favouring his sore leg a little. The heat had loosened it, it was true, and it didn't ache nearly as much as it had in the snow, but that was no reason to push it and make it hurt all over again. "Come first light I'll be gone so your life can return back to normal," he said as he made his way to the spare room she had indicated earlier.

"Don't worry about that. Neither am I. Most people see me and shout, A witcher! Hide your women! or some other such nonsense,"

Sara let out a light giggle at that, more at the way Gawel said it than anything, his voice a fine mockery of noblemen. Her laugh was airy and musical, and as much as she tried, she couldn't control her mouth as it curved into a crescent shaped smile. She put two fingers to her lips, the others resting on her chin, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"Perhaps I should relieve you of your unease then and make use of your spare bed. Come first light I'll be gone so your life can return back to normal,"

Her jovial countenance melted away, the laughter fading from her eyes as she brought her hand from her mouth. "Oh, of course." Was all she managed to say as she watched him stand, noticing that he still favored his leg. Before he shut the door to the spare room, she move quickly over to where he had been ignoring her poultice, snatched it up and shoved it into his hands. "You may be just as stubborn as I am." She said, her face controlled and guarded again. Once his hand grasped the bowl she moved away and turned her back on him, sashaying back to her kitchen where she thought a good therapy session of punching bread dough was in order.

She had no reason to feel so disappointed that he wanted to leave. Of course he did. He said he had never met a sorceress, and she probably fit right into whatever witchers were told about them. Stubborn, ugly, bitter women. Without measuring, Sara tossed a few handfuls of flour into a bowl, along with sugar, some salt, yeast and the other things she added to bread. She had made so many loaves, she had no need to look at the recipe, she knew it by heart. Adding the wet ingredients, she began to knead the dough, forming it into a ball before punching it down. How could she had allowed herself to let him slip past her guard? She had never told anybody about her ears, or her family, and yet, she had spilled her guts to him all because he had asked. What was wrong with her?

Her thin ebony brows were furrowed together, and soon she was feeling too warm. She realized she had yet to take off her mantle. Slapping a floured hand to her forehead, she untied the knot deftly, then hanging it on it's hook next to the door. Even though she protected her clothing from dirt and grime, she felt oddly foolish making bread in this dress. With the door to the spare room closed, she saw no harm in changing her outfit. He probably wouldn't be coming out of his room anymore tonight anyway, she thought as she left her dough on the counter, nearly marching to her room with purpose. She shut the door firmly but quietly, and undressed. She did love the dress, and was quite comfortable in it, but it couldn't compare to being in her plain day clothes. After storing her dress in her little chest at the end of her bed, she pulled on her leggings, plain black cotton fabric that was warmer than it looked. After that came her thin socks, then her fur boots. They were stained leather, and very sturdy, the tops ending just below her knees. Wrapped around, from the top to her ankles, was fur from a winter wolf that had been one clients payment to her. She loved them, and the silver grays, whites and blacks suited her sense of style. Now clothed from the waist down, she grabbed one of her tunics. It was a simple thing, one she had sewn herself. It was a medium toned blue, not dark enough to be called a royal blue, but not as light as her dress. The tunic hung down to just below the bottom curve of her, well, bottom. Finishing her look, she tied a black satin ribbon around her waist, pulling the already small tunic in closer, giving Sara a definite hourglass shape.

Sara took the silver pins from her hair and let it fall freely, running her hands through it. Catching a snag, she winced, then grabbed her comb. Giving her hair a quick brush through, she plaited it firmly then tied it off with more of the satin ribbon like what was around her waist. Tossing her braid over her shoulder, she exited her room and felt so much better. Before setting to her bread dough again, she splashed some water over her face, glad of it's coolness. It didn't take her long to finish the bread, and that left her with nothing to do.

"Well, I guess I'll just clean." It was weird cleaning her home when she knew there was somebody in that room. Her little cottage was near spotless and shining anyway, but just having something to do made her feel better, and took her mind off of the fact that Gawel did not enjoy her company.

Gawel smirked when he was handed the bowl of poultice he had tried to leave behind. Nonetheless, he took it and went into his room, leaving it on the bedside table untouched. He had no idea if it would still be any good after the night had passed but it wasn't really his problem. He had told her that he was fine. So he would have another scar to add to his growing collection, no big deal. He would be gone likely before Sara woke in the morning anyway.

With that thought he took off his leather jerkin and unstrapped his two swords, though he lay them on the bed next to him and still had a dagger on his thigh ready; he never slept unprepared even in a place that seemed safe like here. He had learnt the art of sleeping lightly but restfully, able to come awake at the slightest sound or sense of someone near, yet still getting enough sleep that he wasn't tired when he woke and he slipped into this easily.

*

Gawel woke perhaps an hour before dawn. Rising without complaint, he re-armed himself as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake Sara. As he had said, the burn on his arm was now completely healed, leaving only a pink scar that, over the coming days, would fade to white. It was only a minor injury as far as witchers were concerned so it didn't take long to heal, unlike the one he had recieved on his leg which, being deeper, would take longer to reach that state. And he had a feeling that the scarring in his muscle would always bother him but, for the price he had recieved, it was well worth it.

Ready, he ran his fingers through his hair and slipped out the door, again being as quiet as possible, leaving the house without a backward glance, continuing northward as he had been before he took this job.

"You didn't use that poultice." Sara stated, her voice void of any emotion. She appeared from behind the house as Gawel was sneaking away. "You told me I could inspect both your burn and your leg in the morning, or are witchers just as lazy in upholding their word as humans?" She crossed her arms over her blue tunic, waiting for an answer. She was used to being lied to, and even had some people go back on their word, but she wouldn't have thought that witchers were in the same category as most. For some reason, she had thought that they held to a better moral code, never mind the near apathy of it.

Unable to sleep at all, Sara had worked through the night in varying tasks; cleaning, gathering water from her well, checking on her plants, and even getting her meals for the week started. She had gone from the cabin sometime before dawn to gather some of her favorite mushrooms, when she had heard Gawel awaken and slip out of the house. She watched him for a moment, making sure he was leaving and not just finding a good bush to use as a necessary.

"Well?" She continued to stare at him, her teal eyes bright but guarded as she waited for the excuse.

Gawel sighed when he heard Sara's voice and turned to face her. Momentarily he was met with a mind blank; with the rising sun over her shoulder she looked rather stunning. Then when she prompted him again he shook himself out of it and ran a hand through his hair. "I thought you were sleeping and didn't want to wake you," he said truthfully.

Moving forwards towards her he pushed up his sleeve to reveal the forearm. As he had said, the wound was completely healed and no longer in need for medical care. It was still visible as a pink scar but completely healed and looking as though it were several weeks old if it was on a human. "You see," he said. "I don't need it. I know my own body and what it can take. I sought help after I injured my leg because it was beyond my abilities to heal so it's not some macho, tough for refusing help thing or whatever you're probably thinking. I just don't want you wasting your supplies on someone who doesn't need it when no doubt there are others who do."

He let the sleeve drop once more before saying, "Satisfied?"

When he revealed his acid burn, she was surprised to see that it had healed itself overnight. Her eyes widened slightly with her surprise and had an incredible urge to touch his arm, but resisted, barely, in time to have him push the sleeve back over it, hiding it once more. She looked at him askance.

"Alright, I concede that you have an incredible body." As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished they hadn't. To cover up her folly, she added on, "What about your leg? You are still favoring that side, which means it not as healed as your arm." She moved closer to him, bringing the distance between them to less than arms width. Her heart pounded in her ears, making it hard for her to hear anything else. "I'm not just trying to get you to take your pants off, I want to help." Once again, Sara wished she hadn't opened her mouth, and mentally kicked herself for the odd ways she was saying things. But it was true. She was physically attracted to him, but that was natural. He was a handsome man with the strong facial features that denoted his strength, and if he had not been a witcher, would have implied somewhat to his reproductive ability. The broadness of his shoulders and arms indicated that he would be a good defender, and hence protector of his family, and that always spoke to a womans need to be well cared for. It was all hormonal, and while she knew she couldn't control it, once she logically deduced where the feelings came from, Sara could control them. In theory.

"Alright, I concede that you have an incredible body."

Gawel couldn't resist a smirk at that, knowing she meant more than just his accelerated healing. He wisely chose not to comment on the fact though.

"What about your leg? You are still favoring that side, which means it not as healed as your arm. I'm not just trying to get you to take your pants off, I want to help."

Gawel gritted his teeth and forced himself not to respond immediately, knowing what he would say would have been less than pleasant. And while witchers tended to be rather frank with their speech with each other, he had learnt that most people outside that circle were significantly less so. Eventually, he said, "I don't need or want your help," his voice low and slow, revealing the level of control he was exhibiting at the moment. "It was a serious injury that has been tended to already. It will heal in its own time and I am more than willing to let it do so. The snow and winter weather you keep around here makes the scarring tighten up. That is all. Now, unless you have any other jobs for a witcher I will be on my way," he said.

Sara's eyes darkened at his tone. If he wanted to ruin his leg that was his problem, she wasn't going to force her abilities on him, but seeing the monsters in the swamp made her realize just how dangerous a withcers job truly was. Forcing herself out of a potentially bad mood swing, she dragged a nicer voice from somewhere within her to ask him one question.

"May I come with you?" It was something she had longed to do, and long before she had ever set eyes on this rugged witcher. She had been taken from her home, taught the ways of magic in a very small, secluded village, then put here and told to stay. She made this her home, in her own way, but she was still so young, she wanted to get out and see the world. She wanted to see the grand elven cities, maybe even meet some of her own people. Sara knew she wouldn't be welcome among elves as a rule, because of her human blood, and she was an outcast among humans for the elvish blood... But that didn't stop her from wanting and wishing.

As naive and childish as it was, she wanted to belong. The villagers here had become more and more harmful, coming into her domain to harm her more often than they had before. She feared it wouldn't take them long to find a way to bypass her protective magics, and she would be in a huge pile of trouble then.

"Please?" As sure as her voice had been before, this one word heartfelt plea was soft and quiet, much like the gentle snowflakes that fell about them, swirling in dizzying patterns.

Gawel had turned and started to leave this winter wonderland when Sara spoke again.

"May I come with you?

Gawel froze when he heard that and turned with a rather incredulous look on his face. "Come with me?" he repeated, rather dumbfounded. Why would anyone want to accompany a witcher? His was a dangerous profession; there was a reason it was rare to see a witcher over forty. Add to that, Gawel usually wintered in Kaer Morhen and winter was approaching, but women generally weren't allowed at Kaer Morhen, they provided too much of a distraction to the apprentices. Of course there were always exceptions; Gawel himself had caught a glimpse of a woman when he was fourteen peering down at them from a tower window. And then he had promptly been knocked off his horse and wound up with a concussion.

"Please?"

"Why?" Gawel said eventually, completely at a loss as to why on earth she would choose to follow him. Before, yes, it had been an escort mission. But now? No one wanted to go with him or accompany him anywhere. No one wanted anything to do with him, saw him as little more than a necesary evil.

At first he was determined to say no; she had needed an escort to get into the swamps and Gawel travelled to much more dangerous areas than swamplands and faced much more dangerous creatures as well. He couldn't be expected to protect her. But she was supposed to be a sorceress and they were supposed to be powerful. Maybe she had just needed him to protect her while her attention was on the plant? Regardless, first he wanted to hear why she wanted to come with him. Make sure it wasn't some girlish flight of fancy or something.

"Why?"

Sara chewed the inside of her lip before she spoke. She caught the open confusion mirrored in his face, and she understood why. She herself barely understood why she had spoken up in the first place. With an amount of sheer determination, she pulled herself together and looked squarely into Gawel's eyes. "Because I have never had a chance to do anything. You go wherever you want, kill monsters that threaten people. You make a difference, even though people react to you the same way they react to me. I sit here day after day, worthless. I may not look like it, but I am a sorceress, and even though you've clearly stated you don't want my help, I can be of use to you." Her teal eyes flashed with need and wanting. Snow flakes had gathered on her hair, creating small patches of pure white against her raven black hair. Before he could answer, and without moving at all, Sara released the land from her winter. The snow stopped falling, and what snow was on the ground began to melt away. The trees, looking like they were dead, sprang to life with the brilliant colors of autumn. Grass sprung up around Sara's boots, a pale comparison to what it would have been in spring, but still green and full of life. The vibrant colors nearly knocked Sara over. So many shades of red and gold, she had almost forgotten what color looked like. She refused to let that show, not wanting to give Gawel any reason to deny her the request.

Sara had no idea what she would do if he did. She was taking a very large risk by asking, but she had very little else to lose. She had to leave soon, she knew that. It would just make it easier to start wandering if she knew where she was wandering to, and why pass up the very rare chance to do that with a witcher? Never mind the fact that Sara felt an almost hunger-like need to be around him.

"Because I have never had a chance to do anything. You go wherever you want, kill monsters that threaten people. You make a difference, even though people react to you the same way they react to me. I sit here day after day, worthless. I may not look like it, but I am a sorceress, and even though you've clearly stated you don't want my help, I can be of use to you."

An eyebrow rose at that, not quite buying it. "What's been stopping you?" he said. "As you say, you are a sorceress. I don't see any chains or shackles or bars keeping you here and not allowing you to leave. He wasn't sure he wanted a companion who didn't take the initiative to get what they wanted. But then... He looked past her at the cottage, rather pretty cloaked in snow as it was. It had been nice there, and cozy. Almost like a real home. Almost as though he could have forgotten about his witcher training and the world around him. Where he could just be normal Gawel, as though he had never been taken as a boy. It had been nice. And the company too. He found that, even though many times he prefered to travel alone and do things alone, such was a witcher's path, he was lonely. He had confided such feelings to his old teacher last winter but had been assured that such feelings will fade when he got used to travelling alone instead of being with comrades. For some it took longer to adjust to than others. But so far Gawel hadn't gotten used to it. And she was beautiful.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, unaware that it loosened the white streaks from where they were normally tucked behind his ears. He was about to answer her when the world around them suddenly changed, the snow melting and the trees becoming alive once more. Gawel took a hasty step back before he checked himself, his eyes darting this way and that, clearly unnerved.

"Fine," he said. "Quit messing with the weather and the natural order with things and I suppose you can tag along. Not on dangerous jobs though," he said firmly. "I can't be keeping an eye on you and watching my own back at the same time, understand?" Maybe she could tag along to Kaer Morhen even if she was kept away from the apprentices. Berengar might be able to offer some advice with her and maybe she would like the mage. Gawel snorted to himself. Unlikely. No one liked him. But who knew with these magic-types.

Decided, he turned and started walking away again, the paused. "I suppose you'll want to gather your things before we go," he realized, then chose a tree and sat down under it, resting his back against it, his sore leg out straight. Already it wasn't paining him as much, though he knew it would take a day or two of movement with walking and the lack of icy wind to make it stop hurting completely. He rested there to wait for her.

"Fine, Quit messing with the weather and the natural order with things and I suppose you can tag along. Not on dangerous jobs though. I can't be keeping an eye on you and watching my own back at the same time, understand?

Sara nodded solemnly, while inside it felt like she would burst with excitement. Finally, a chance to get out of here. She pondered his earlier statement and question. It was true that there were no physical things that bound her to this place, but rather memories and the lack of self confidence. Since he had not seemed too eager to hear more from her, which he showed by sitting down against the tree in a pile of gold and orange tinted leaves, she took one final look around.

There was nothing here she really needed. She was wearing her basic clothes, and apart from her dress... well, she figured Gawel wouldn't want her cavorting around in that old thing anyway. She looked at her humble home, a small twinge of... what was it? Regret? Loneliness? Or maybe it was just preemptive home sickness. Sara drifted towards the side of the house. Leaning against an empty barrel, was a walking stick. It was nearly as tall as she was, and it was polished smooth from years of use. It had been her teachers, and when she was released as a sorceress, it became hers. It looked like an ordinary stick, almost like a straight, branch-less, upside down tree, with the roots all knotted and gnarled at the top, a point at the bottom. Arianna had told her, however, that it carried its own power, and each woman who held it, unlocked different aspects of its being. Sara had believed the stories of this magical stick when she was a child, but it felt no different from an ordinary stick, which made her lose faith in it.

Still, it was the one thing she felt a need to take with her, so she did. She grabbed the dark polished wood and moved back to where Gawel sat, his leg stretched out before him. For the millionth time, Sara bit back the urge to nag him about it and to force him to use a poultice. Or just let her heal it herself. With her cape already draped around her slim shoulders, there was nothing left to gather or get. Even with her winter gone, the forest would still, hopefully, protect her home for the day she returned, or when the next sorceress came to claim this little abode for their own.

"I'm ready, Gawel."

A small smile tugged at Gawel's lips as he rested under the tree there. This was much better. He personally prefered spring to autumn but he wasn't one to complain. He just didn't enjoy winter much. With his eyes closed and his face tilted up to the dappled sunlight he was able to relax some, trusting in his instincts and his medallion to warn him of any danger. Not that he expected any here, but that didn't mean anything; danger usually appeared when it wasn't expected.

"I'm ready, Gawel."

Gawel opened his eyes and gazed at her, mildly surprised that she didn't have a huge suitcase or something to drag along with her, but simple nodded and stood. Maybe she was more practical than he had first thought, though he had half expected her to have changed into that dress she insisted on tromping through the swamps in.

Leading the way north west once more he found he was at a loss as to what to say or do, or if he was expected to say or do anything. Just as he rarely had company at night he also never had a travelling companion. He supposed he should at least tell her where he was headed.

"I always winter at Kaer Morhen," he said. "So that's where I'm headed, stopping at towns and picking up jobs along the way. I don't know what kind of reception you will get there; generally women are not allowed there, and no strangers are allowed free reign of the castle and its grounds."

"I always winter at Kaer Morhen. So that's where I'm headed, stopping at towns and picking up jobs along the way. I don't know what kind of reception you will get there; generally women are not allowed there, and no strangers are allowed free reign of the castle and its grounds."

If he had been looking at her, Sara would have been hard pressed to hid her surprise and delight. Hearing stories of the famed home of the witchers was enough to entertain any child's imagination, but being able to actually go there, and spend an entire winter in it's halls... She reminded herself of the last part of his short explanation. It was easily understandable why women were not allowed, since Kaer Morhen was a male only school, girls are considered distractions to the training boys. She could understand that. No use in making the apprentices lives any more difficult by introducing the need to impress the lady. The corner of Sara's mouth twitched fondly at the imagery. While she had been apprenticing under Arianna, she had met several boys around her own age, undergoing the same teaching as she was. Sara had noticed that when she and Arianna were around to watch the boys practice, there was always more flair to their casting than when she watched secretly.

And no free reign. Not being able to wander around to her hearts content. Another thing she understood, but didn't want to acknowledge. Of course it would be a rule, so she didn't get herself into trouble by stumbling upon less than seemly things, but surely they would allow someone, possibly Gawel, to give her a small tour? That was, if they even allowed her to stay at all. Given the idea of wintering alone with a bunch of men and boys, she thought it was a good idea she hadn't bothered to bring along her dress. No need to look any more feminine than she naturally did.

"What was the toughest job you've had so far, Gawel?" With the silence stretching, even though she didn't feel a need to fill it, she could tell by the way Gawel moved that he was anxious. Either about his choice to allow her to tag along with him, or by the silence that spanned between them. Well, if he didn't talk to her, or gave her curt answers, she would soon find out which one. Sara didn't like using her magic for everything, like she had seen others do. Using magic constantly for every little thing, making clothes, food, healing, reading thoughts, deciphering emotions... It was a constant strain on the senses, and while she loved the feeling of the magic coursing through her body, filling up her entire being, it just wasn't necessary. To her way of thinking, anyway. In addition to that, there was the small nagging voice in the far reaches of her mind reminding her of her fragile fertile state. Being an Elf, she had a small time span in which to have a family of her own, something Sara wished to someday have. On top of that, if she were to use her magic as constantly as she could, for everything, the connection between her body and the magic would eventually eradicate all her hope of bearing her own children, rendering her barren.

Sara whipped her thoughts around to Gawel, hoping she hadn't completely missed what he said, or if he had indeed said anything.

"What was the toughest job you've had so far, Gawel?"

Gawel smiled despite himself. "You always ask the questions that have no easy answer, don't you," he said. "Like your question about my strength, there are many ways to measure toughness. But," he held up a hand to forestall any explanation on her part; he knew what kind of answer she was looking for, "apart from the witcher trials, there were a couple of archespores I had to fight. Nasty little blighters, they're like mutated living plants that grow from the body of a murder victim. Not usually much of a problem, silver sword, fast style, igni a few times to set them alight and you're done. Problem was the man wouldn't give me the details of the job till I proved I was capable enough, and to him that meant I had to beat him at drinking." He looked over at Sara to make sure she was still interested and to flash her an amused smile. "Now it was my first year away from Kaer Morhen so I was still learning the way of the world. I had never gotten drunk before but assumed because of the mutations I would I would be immune. After all I was immune to practically everything else I had come up against so it was a reasonable assumption. So you can imagine my surprise when I stood up and the ground lurched and my words were slurring as much as the common drunkard," he said with a laugh, clearly amused by his own naivety.

"Regardless," he continued, "the mutations must have kept some of it away ad I held my own and a deal is a deal. He showed me where they were and I attempted to fight them staggering around the field. Turns out though that alcohol interfered with my ability to use the signs. Ard kind of backfired, blew me back on my arse, and igni... Well, let's just say I was uneasy around fire for some time afterwards. Not to mention the butt of many jokes at Kaer Morhen that winter. Got this one from that little encounter." Gawel pulled aside the collar of his shirt so that his shoulder was revealed, showing a puckered scar there, several years old and faded to a white colour that had almost blended with his skin already and disappeared. Another demonstration of a witcher's healing abilities since the scar itself looked as though it were nearly ten years old, rather than just over three years old. As well as being what he would consider the toughest job since he not only had to fight while heavily intoxicated but also without the use of his signs, it was also one of the ones he had learned the most on.

Sara listened intently. She couldn't help but be impressed that he didn't get himself maimed or even killed by fighting while drunk, although he did paint a rather amusing picture. That was a tidbit she did not know, witchers were still vulnerable to the effects of alcohol. At least mostly. She also got the feeling that he had teased her, but she chose to ignore that for now. When he showed the scar on his shoulder, she was impressed yet again. It was already nearly healed, and Sara couldn't stop herself from wondering if it would take years for his leg to heal itself like his scars.

A smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth at the vivid image she got of Gawel being blown back on his arse. "Since then, have you had to prove your mettle in drinking games?" Sara just couldn't resist a little bit of teasing, he was seeming to warm up to her. Well, if his smiles were any indication of that.

"Since then, have you had to prove your mettle in drinking games?"

Gawel laughed at that. "You could say that, yes. You would be surprised what people will talk about and what information the would be willing to divulge when their tongues have been loosened by drink. I have, however, since been taught the formulae for a potion to negate the alcohol's affects. My old teacher took pity on me and, among much teasing, passed it on to me so I don't injure myself. I make sure I have one on me when I need to drink to obtain information."

He had also found outthat his signs reaction seemed to be unique, hence all the teasing. But he didn't want to tell her that. There was a level of mystique surrounding witchers and until he had the ok to say so he had no wish to divulge too much.

"What about you?" he asked turning the attention back to her. And he was curious about his new companion. "What's the toughest job you have ever done?" he asked.

Sara added a small ringing giggle to his laughter. His laugh was so infectious, it was hard not to join him. She remembered briefly reading about various ways to negate the effects of alcohol on ones system, but most had been written with a warning not to over use it. Any effects that would harm someone, witchers were probably immune to, so she assumed, anyway. No point in trying to tell him something he probably already knew.

"What about you? What's the toughest job you have ever done?"

Sara had to think, her brows coming together slightly in contemplation. "I would have to say, my toughest job was simple, but trying. A little girl was being escorted to my cabin by her mother, and the girl carried the tiniest kitten I have ever seen. It seemed that the mother was being dragged by the girl, who insisted that her kitten was sick. I could find no problems at all with this kitty, but this girl, who could have been no more than five or six years old, insisted passionately that I needed to save her kitty. With pleading looks from the girls mother, who looked just completely exhausted, I played along and gave the kitty a special potion." Sara's face lit up with a full, but fond smile. "It was nothing but cream, but the little girl was so thankful that I saved her kitty, and the mother was very thankful for a few moments of peace without hearing talk about the cat. They were there all day long, and I promise you, that little girl never once talked about anything other than her kitty."

As Sara had guessed, Gawel did know about the dangers of the potions he took, including the Wives' Tears potion. In fact his own version on it was far more potent than those sold by peddling alchemists on the side of the road such that, with the vast majority of his potions, it would be lethal to the normal human. Which reminded him, he would have to make some more when he stopped for the night.

*

They passed the day swapping stories and while Gawel was careful not to speak too much about the specifics he saw no harm in telling about various jobs he had taken and how he had dealt with them. And besides, he found that if he shared some tales Sara was more willing to share some of her own, though he avoided stories of his childhood which in turn allowed Sara a chance to avoid the subject should she wish.

The sun was setting on the horrizon when they came to the next town, a small back-water place that boasted a few stalls, blacksmith, armorour and herbalist mostly, and a tavern which was most important to Gawel. Passing the ramshackle huts and the stares his hair, eyes and twin swords drew (his medallion was tucked into the neck of his shirt) he stopped outside the tavern and scanned the notice board there. It was here that villagers posted any requests they had. Most were fairly standard, a few harder to obtain alchemy items for the herbalist, a small drowner contract that would do very little to stop the undead rising the next night, the quick, easy kind of jobs that were barely worth the orens they were offering. There was, however, one that took his interest and it looked like an old notice too. Reaching forward he took it from the board and read it quickly. A Koshchey had apparently been ravaging the town and someone was offering a thousand orens to get rid of it. How that amount of money would be found in such a place he had no idea but money was money and it would be good to have enough to last the entire winter.

"This could be useful," he muttered to himself, and he folded the paper, tucking it into his shirt. Looking over his shoulder to Sara, he said, "Let's go see what's on the menu shall we? And find more out about this Koshchey." In truth, the presence of such a creature concerned Gawel more than he let on. It could only be summoned by the foulest of magics and it had to be a powerful mage at that. The koshchey was not a natural creature and that it was being used in such a backwater place concerned Gawel more than he wanted to admit.

"Let's go see what's on the menu shall we? And find more out about this Koshchey."

At the mention of the monster, Sara's heart skipped a beat. "A Koshchey? Here?" Without trying to be too conspicuous, she roved her eyes over the town, looking for any sign of the spidery crustacean. "I didn't think anyone existed that could create them..." She followed Gawel as he led the way into the tavern. The stench that permeated the room nearly knocked her on her arse. Once Gawel opened the door, she was assailed by several different smells. Living out in the woods, she had developed a very keen sense of smell, able to distinguish different herbs and plants by smell alone, and now Sara was definitely regretting her ability to smell anything at all. She slapped a hand over her nose and mouth, trying to keep the heavy, disgusting stench of rancid vomit and very old urine from burning the hairs in her nose. To make those even worse, strong alcohol mixed around the room, swirling among the other threats to her nose and lungs.

Her eyes began to water with the overwhelming urge to lose her breakfast. She grabbed a hold of Gawel's shirt sleeve, closing her eyes to the sight of the smoky interior of the tavern. She didn't want to see the grime covered men at the bar, chugging their pints of beer, and most definitely did not want to see the hungry, assessing looks they gave as their eyes roamed over her body. Making a small mew-like sound, she stepped closer to Gawel, her body hidden behind his, pressing close against his back. "Are you really sure we have to go in here?"

"A Koshchey? Here?"

"Seems that way," Gawel said.

"I didn't think anyone existed that could create them..."

Gawel looked over at her with an amused smile on his face. "If no one existed who could create them then we wouldn't know about them," he teased. He knew what she meant, that while people have existed in the past who could create them no one did now. But it was more fun this way.

Entering the tavern he started towards a spare table but stopped when he felt Sara press against his back. Instantly he couldn't help but think of how nice it felt, how soft and warm she was against his back but he pushed such thoughts aside.

"Are you really sure we have to go in here?"

"Your first night away from home and you're already balking at a simple tavern?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Whatever happened to the woman who insisted in wading through swamplands in a spotless dress? Relax. It's better in here than in the monster infested wilderland. Besides, I would rather be able to rest a little than remain vigilant out there. Fireplaces don't repel all monsters after all," he said before moving forward to the table once more and taking a seat on it. A rather buxom woman approached their table.

"What can I getcha?" she asked.

"A beer for me and," he glanced to Sara before back to the waitress, "a Tamerian Red for my companion here," he decided.

After the buxom woman left the table with their orders, Sara knew her cheeks were going to burst into flame. It can't be appropriate for women to dress in such a fashion, and to display themselves that openly. Sara decided now was a fine time to react to his earlier statements. "I am quite comfortable in the woods, but this..." She shuddered. She drew herself up straighter and forced a hard confidence she most definitely did not feel into her eyes. She slowly met the gazes of a group of men who had been making faces at her since they walked in. Giving them a steely glare, with some very small amounts of chilly magic sent into them, they quickly left her alone and turned back to their mugs of overflowing... something. "I certainly am glad I decided not to change into my spotless dress." She teased, hoping he thought her at least a little but amusing and companionable.

After a moment of silence, she just couldn't keep her mouth shut anymore. "So what is a Tamerian Red? Is it alcohol?" She worried her lip a little. She leaned closer to Gawel to almost whisper her next question. "Why do the men keep staring at me like that? It's very disconcerting, and even sending some very cold magic into them hasn't deterred them for very long."