The message was short and to the point.

I need someone to escort me and protect me from the swamp monsters while I collect a very rare herb. Contact Sasha for details.

Seemed like a nice, simple job to Gawel and it was sure to pay well if this woman got the plant she wanted. It had details on where to find her and following them Gawel entered a winter zone in the forest. An eyebrow rose as he stepped into it. This woman was obviously no botanist to render a bubble to remain locked in winter, but why would a sorceress, for that was what she was Gawel had no doubt, be in need of a witcher?

Spotting the house in the distance, Gawel approached it cautiously; he had never met a sorceress before and was unsure what his reception would be. Most humans disdained witchers, saw them as an evil necessity. He didn't know if this sorceress would be any different. He was limping slightly as he made his way through the snow, the cold making the fresh scar on his thigh ache though any trace of pain didn't show on his face.

Sara knew instantly that someone had stepped into her winterized home. Knowing he, for she could tell that the energy was masculine, still had a ways to walk before reaching her humble cottage, she changed from her everyday clothes of black leggings stuffed into furred boots, and an extra long thicken woolen white tunic, into a long flowing dress of light blue that she paired with her dainty white slippers, tossing a white fur shrug over her shoulders and tying it into place at her throat. She always loved the looks people gave her when she opened the door just before they knock. It was that mystified surprise which then turned to awe as they took in this girl, for she was barely twenty-two years of age, standing before them in a dress fit for a princess.

Her small mouth twitched at one corner briefly; the closest she ever came to smiling. She wore her hair in the same style, visitors or no, so that didn't need any rearranging. She merely flicked a few stray locks of her long ebony hair over her shoulder and made sure her silver pins were still in place holding the top half of it piled on her head. Her cottage was a three room affair, simple, with no unnecessary decorations. One room was her private quarters where she slept, the other a guest room, if she had been brought an ailing or wounded client, and the largest was a kitchen, sitting area, exam room, and potion room all in one area. It could hold several people at once without feeling too crowded, but Sara didn't entertain much, at least, not on a personal level.

She didn't get very many visitors at all, except for the people who were desperate and needed things only a sorceress could do. Sara was known locally as Aili Shor, the winter witch. She didn't call herself a witch, and frankly, didn't take kindly to being called one, but as much as she hated people in general, she couldn't turn away business.

Turning her attention to her visitor, she closed her large teal eyes, her long black lashes laying gently against her pale porcelain skin. Sara tucked a few wisps of hair behind her pointed ear, listening. He was still a ways off, but she could fix that. Looking through her magic, she brought up his image, and was momentarily caught off guard. A witcher! She opened her eyes and felt the slight stirrings of panic in her chest. She had never met a witcher, or even really seen one, other than depictions in her books. She knew very little of them, which irked her. Her mentor had plainly told her to avoid them if she could, and that was advice that Sara had followed, up until now anyway.

Surprising herself with her own nervousness, she decided to make herself useful. She had noticed that he was walking with a slight limp, and she was determined to force herself to the belief that he was not coming in response to her wanted ad, but to have her fix his limp. Yes. That was it. All this waiting around was making her more anxious! She wrung her sweaty palms together, then wiped them on her skirt, focusing on moving the ground around to make his travelling easier. She had learned this skill from her mentor, and was pleased she could do it well. Many a horrid person she had lost in these woods, and had even managed to make them end up right back where they had entered, much to her delight and their anger. Using that skill now, she closed the gap between the witcher and her home.

Gawel froze when the ground seemed to smooth out and the vague path he had been following seemed to condense, appearing to bring the house he was heading towards closer. He had to admit he didn't trust magic much. True, he could use the signs, but witcher magic was rather basic and primative compared to that a sorceress could control. And he had never been particularly good at the signs anyway, taking longer than normal to master them. A good thing, he thought, that Kaer Morhen was more focused on the martial side of the witcher's skills. A shiver spread through his body and he wasn't sure it wasn't just the cold that brought it on. "It's not like she can make the whole swamp winter," he muttered to himself before continuing, hands under his armpits to keep them warm. He really hated the cold. He had thought that by heading to this land he would be avoiding it, especially this late in the season but it seemed it followed him like a bad smell.

Reaching the house he rose a hand to knock but was not overly surprised when the door opened before he could do so; the sorceress obviously knew he was there since she had made the way easier for him so it was no great leap of logic to suggest that she would open the door for him. Eyeing the elaborate gown she wore an eyebrow rose at the sight. She was pretty, to be sure, but hardly wearing what he thought appropriate clothes to go travelling in. Maybe this job would be harder than he thought since, willing to protect her from the monsters of the swamps, he wasn't willing to carry her to save a pretty dress.

"Gawel. Witcher," he said. As if the twin swords and wolf medallion weren't a dead give-away to the fact. "I'm here about your notice. You aren't planning on wearing that to the swamps, are you?" His voice, though holding a hint of something akin to annoyance at the thought of having to escort some prissy girl, was soft and gentle, giving hint to a gentler nature within him.

When Sara opened the door, revealing the witcher, she caught the mild perusal of her slender form. One eyebrow quirked upward slightly, and she barely managed not to ask him if he liked what he saw. When he spoke, she was pleasantly surprised at his voice. Deep and strong, but off-set by the gentleness that shone through his tone, even with the less than covert annoyance.

Scanning him up and down with a quick flick of her bright teal eyes, she met his own green ones. "Sara." She stated, her voice sharp but light and airy, one thing she supposed she inherited from her Elvish sire. "And yes, I am." She couldn't help but notice his muscles wriggle and move under his skin. Chastising herself, she chalked it up to a purely knowledge gaining move, for she had never been able to study a witcher.

"I am looking for Feainewaed." Sara said as she stepped forward, bringing her less than a half meter from Gewan as she reached for the small herb basket she kept sitting on a short black wrought iron table next to him. "As I'm sure you know, it is an exceedingly rare herb that only grows where Elven blood has been spilled." Her voice faltered for a fraction of a second as her arm brushed his sleeve and she caught a faint scent, from him she assumed. Filing that away for later, she refused to allow her brain to act like a silly child. As she regained her composure, she strode with purpose past the witcher, hoping he had the sense to keep up. "There are several monsters that have been seen in this swamp, and none of them I fancy on meeting. Hence why I wrote that notice, and why you are here." She kept her voice level and calm, sounding very much like her mentor. "Apart from Kikimore's, there are Drowner's and Bludzueger's."

After a few feet, Sara stopped and turned on her heel to face Gawen again, forcing herself to ignore his almost glowing green eyes and broad shoulders, not to mention that thick black shock of hair... She kicked herself mentally. At twenty-two, she was still marriagable, but who wanted a half-breed for a bride?

"What happened to your leg? I noticed your limp once you entered my Winter. I bet I could heal it for you, and since you are escorting me, I shall waive the fee."

Gawel suppressed the sigh that threatened to escape when she insisted on going dressed as she was. "Well don't blame me if you get wet and dirty. Tromping through the swamp isn't exactly the cleanest of activities and killing monsters can make a bit of a mess," he said resignedly. If she wanted to struggle through the muddy waters and soggy land wearing such inappropriate clothes then that was her prerogative.

"I am looking for Feainewaed. As I'm sure you know, it is an exceedingly rare herb that only grows where Elven blood has been spilled."

He actually didn't know that. He knew a vast number of herbs and plants but they were mostly used for witcher potions in quantities and combinations that would kill the average human. Even then being released from Kaer Morhen's care four years ago he still had much to learn. He did, however, notice the hesitation Sara gave when mentioning the spilling of elven blood and, now that he was looking for it he could see the point of her ears. A half elf then since there was too much human in her to be a full elf. No doubt then she had experienced the same prejudiced loneliness Gawel had since striking out on his own. It was no matter to Gawel, of course; he had little care for what someone's race might be so long as they paid him for his work. Speaking of being paid...

"There are several monsters that have been seen in this swamp, and none of them I fancy on meeting. Hence why I wrote that notice, and why you are here. Apart from Kikimore's, there are Drowner's and Bludzueger's."

"Drowners and Bludzuegers, yes I know. Likely drowned dead too which are a tad nastier than plain Drowners," he said saying the first three words in unison with her before adding the rest. Allowing a small smile cross his features to let her know he meant no offence he said, "I do make a living from monster slaying, you know. I wouldn't be much of a witcher if I didn't know what lurked in the swamps."

"What happened to your leg? I noticed your limp once you entered my Winter. I bet I could heal it for you, and since you are escorting me, I shall waive the fee."

"A kikimore," Gawel said. "It decided I would make a gadget snack," he said with a humorless smile. "Too bad for it an alchemist had plans for it and a couple of my own supplies needed replenishing. Don't worry about it though, it's just the cold making it ache." he hoped so that is, he hadn't had to fight anything since he got the injury but he wasn't about to tell her that. "speaking of fees though," he said. "I normally charge 200 Irene for escort jobs, half now and half when the job is done." he stopped walking to await her response and, hopefully, money. Good will didn't keep him fed or his gear looked after, after all.

She quirked an eyebrow. "I wouldn't think a witcher should care about a ladies dress." She said, allowing the slightest hint of teasing to underscore her comment.

When he chimed in with her, and his smile almost make her return one of her own, but her lips stayed in a solemn line, her eyes holding the only clue that she had heard the remark and took no offence. "Of course, I didn't mean to imply anything." She bit her tongue, keeping herself from babbling on. It had been such a long time since her last interaction with people, and she was afraid she was starting to loose her haughtiness that she had worked so carefully to build up. And to a witcher no less!

"A kikimore. It decided I would make a tasty snack. Too bad for it an alchemist had plans for it, and a couple of my own supplies needed replenishing. Don't worry about it though, it's just the cold making it ache. Speaking of fees though, I normally charge 200 Irene for escort jobs, half now and half when the job is done.

She watched him carefully, her eyes scanning his face. Withdrawing a bag of coins from a hidden pocket in her dress-skirt, she held it out on her palm. "I did not know about your half and half policy, so you will forgive me if I just pay you the whole price now. And as for your leg..." Her eyes flashed down to it quickly, then back up to his eyes. "It's not just the cold. It's on the verge of infection, and if you don't mind waiting a single moment, either now or after I gather my herb, I will be more than willing to heal it for you. As you so rightly put it, you wouldn't be much of a witcher if you couldn't slay the monsters."

Even though her delicate face stayed as stoic as a statue, her eyes piercing and almost challenging, but also holding a shimmer of mirth, waiting for his response.

"I wouldn't think a witcher should care about a ladies dress."

"More about the whining that comes with a dirty lady's dress," he said. The bards may prefer high-born ladies, but Gawel found he preferred practical women. Of course, he hadn't really had much experience in that area and he wasn't one for sleeping with whores.

"I did not know about your half and half policy, so you will forgive me if I just pay you the whole price now."

Gawel gave a one-shouldered shrug and added the money to a pouch at his waist. It didn't bother him if she was willing to trust him with all the money now. Most weren't was all. Nonetheless, he stuck by his word and would fulfill the contract.

And as for your leg... It's not just the cold. It's on the verge of infection, and if you don't mind waiting a single moment, either now or after I gather my herb, I will be more than willing to heal it for you. As you so rightly put it, you wouldn't be much of a witcher if you couldn't slay the monsters."

Gawel sighed. "It will take more than an infection to down me," he said, continuing to walk towards the swamps, doing his best to minimize the limp. "I take it you don't know a lot about witchers. I'm immune to a lot of things. While infection can still appear it will be beaten within an hour. So you really have nothing to worry about. Besides, it happened a week ago now. Plenty of time to heal." Of course, were she to actually see the wound she would know that on a normal person it would be enough to kill them. Even with Gawel it had been a near thing through blood-loss. But he had found a temple that was able to take him in and patch him up. Such places don't tend to like witchers though, only tending them because it was their duty to help all who came to them in need, so he hadn't stayed long, leaving earlier than he would normally have and this was the first job since leaving there barely two days ago.

As they approached the swampland, Gawel drew the finer silver blade. His medallion was vibrating lightly, warning him of danger nearby and he was able to pick out several drowners ahead of them. "Drowners and Drowned Dead, stay close to me. Bludzuegers, move away from me; they spout acid as you approach and poisonous gas when they die and if you get that on you or breath it in, a dirty dress will be the least of your worries," so far he hadn't noticed how she was able to walk on top of the mud and water rather than sink into it as Gawel was. "We shouldn't run into any kikimores unless we go into caves. Anything else... well we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

As they kept going a number of Drowners rose from the water and, using the group style, Gawel dispatched them with ease. His body was a finely tuned weapon, the sword merely an extension of that weapon, and the acrobatic and sweeping style of the silver-bladed group style was perfect for these. However Drowners had a habit of being endless which could be just a bit annoying.

"So... where abouts are we heading?" he asked after he had dispatched of another group. As he went he removed parts of their bodies that could be used for his potions. Waste not, want not.

"More about the whining that comes with a dirty lady's dress,"

Sara bit back a retort as the corner of her mouth twitched. My, if this witcher only knew, she was granting him with the most outward emotion she's ever shown anyone! This would make twice now he had nearly gotten her to smile. Something was obviously wrong here. But he took the coin with a mere shrug, which appeased her. As he spouted off some macho nonsense, she continued to bit her tongue, almost to the point where she thought she may very well taste blood soon.

She watched in silent admiration as he dispatched several of the slimy creatures, watching his body move faster than a normal person could. Reading about the incredible speed and deftness of witchers was one thing, but seeing it firsthand was quite another, and Sara had to admit it, rather thrilling.

"So... where abouts are we heading?"

Taking a few steps towards him, her feet just gliding over the muck that was the swamp, she pondered that. "It's supposed to be just beyond that large boulder there." Sara replied, indicating with a slight tilt of her chin. In truth, she had never had to come to the swamp before, which is why she had send out a notice for an escort in the first place. Hell, she didn't even know exactly what the plant looked like, only the sketches given to her by her mentor, Arianna.

"Would you mind if I asked you a question?" Nothing in her tone would indicate she had asked a question, except for slight raise in tone at the end. She was curious about him, and witchers in general, but had settled on one to ask first. Depending on how well received this one was, she may be able to squeeze a few more answers out of him before he had to leave.

"It's supposed to be just beyond that large boulder there."

Gawel followed her gaze and nodded. It wasn't too far away but, of course, there were monsters in the way. Bludzuegers in fact, two of them. His eyes scanning the area he noticed a few drowners around too and where there was one drowner there were sure to be a few of them.

"I'll dispatch the drowners first, then move on to the Bludzuegers. When I do, if any more drowners appear let me know, but if the bludzuegers are still alive still stay away from me," he said. "I'm immune to their poison; you're not," he said. Of course their poison still hurt but it wasn't going to kill him unless he was headed that way to begin with.

He did as he said with practiced efficiency; reagents from drowners was one of his more common contracts and he had grown quite efficient in finishing them off. Of course, it was a slightly different matter protecting someone else especially since he couldn't do all of the sweeping attacks, but such was life. Dispatching of the drowners he move towards the first bludzueger carefully, switching his stance to the strong style. He made a wide circle around the large leech-like creature until he was halfway between the two. Then, he summoned Igni, the fire spell witchers used and hurled it at the first bludzueger. Enraged, and also on fire, it turned to chase the witcher down. Gawel, meanwhile, turned and ran, straight towards the other, dodging on instinct as it attempted to hurl it's acid at him. The strong style was efficient against such monsters, he knew and he began using it on the two at once, focusing more on the one that was ignited. When it started to die, Gawel quickly rolled away from it and out of the range of the toxic fumes that, when they exploded outwards, actually harmed the other. All the while he was keeping an ear out for Sara, making sure she was still safe.

Noting that he had ignored her, she did as she was told and stayed well away from him, keeping her teal eyes sweeping over the swamp waters for any of the drowners or other fould beasts. It was fascinating to watch Gawen fight, and, if she was honest, he had distracted her several times from her watchman task.

During one such staring, Sara's eye caught a movement in the water. It was very faint, only a slight rippling of the water. Not taking any chances, she sent a thread of magic out to the spot to discover what exactly was lurking underneath the muddy surface. As soon as her magic broke the water, she was hit with a sickening sensation. Drowners. Lots of them. She shot Gawen a glance, but he was still battling the Bludzuegers, and hadn't noticed the rippling.

Standing quite still, she roamed her eyes over the water, especially the water close to the witcher. When another ripple spread out, revealing an oval head, slimy with muck, she let out a bolt of dazzling electricity, lighting up the forest. At the same moment she did that, she shouted Gawen's name, hoping her voice carried across the noise. Not wanting to take any chances, as she watched the drowner she had electrified sink back into the water, she sent out a short telepathic message to him, even though she was unsure if he could reply, or if he could even hear those sorts of messages.

She lowered her hand, which had been stretched out in order to fling her spell, back down to her waist, her body still but her eyes constantly moving, waiting for more ripples and monsters.

Gawel, focusing on the remaining bludzueger, didn't see the electricity magic until it struck the drowner at his corner. He was aware of the creature approaching him - there was little that a witcher missed - but was ignoring it for now. Sensing the sudden movement though he glanced over at it right when the bludzueger spat acid at him. He managed to dodge most of it but some of it landed on his left forearm, burning through the shirt and into his flesh. Swearing, he shook his arm roughly to get the worst of it off, annoyed at getting distracted by such a thing. Were he just on his own it wouldn't have happened but his attention was divided.

Time to finish this. Moving forwards he finished off the injured bludzueger; his style, while strong and using two hands to wield the silver sword for the most part, focused primarily on dodging and avoiding attacks so consequently it was flashier than the steal styles but Gawel wasn't even really aware of how flashy he looked. He was just getting a job done. Rolling out of the way once more to avoid the explosion of poisonous gasses, he rose to his feet an walked casually towards Sara, idly stabbing down in the water at a drowner that was about to rise up as he went without even bothering to look down.

"It's probably as safe as it can be to get your flower now," he said. He had forgotten that she wanted to ask him a question now; originally he had ignored it in favour of focusing on what he was doing, but now he had forgotten she even asked it.

"Thank you." Was all she could manage to say normally. She walked around the corpses of monsters, still keeping herself protected from the mud and now blood, that was the swamp floor. She headed straight for the boulder, her teal eyes now fixed on it and her prize that lay somewhere behind it. When she reached the boulder, she traced her long elegant fingers along the stone as she passed by, feeling the coarse stone under her fingertips.

Sara swallowed nervously. She wasn't frightened of the monsters, or anything else in the swamp, but the memories that it held. Even a half-breed like her could feel the sorrow here, where Elves had spilled their life blood. A shiver ran down her spine and she barely suppressed the urge to shiver. She couldn't explain the way she felt here to the witcher. Thankfully, her flower was in plain sight, growing up and around tree trunks that had fallen towards each other. Sara realized she was holding the basket handle so tightly that her already pale skin was even whiter. She released her grip and began to gently, but efficiently pluck the flowers and leaves from the stem, taking only what she knew she immediately needed, then doubling that for drying and storage. Never knew when she might need it again, and there was no point in hiring another escort.

Finished with her harvesting, she closed her eyes briefly, uttering a peaceful prayer in elvish before moving back towards the boulder. She nearly ran smack dab into Gawen, not noticing where he had been standing. Sara was more than ready to get out of the swamp. "All finished. Shall we?"

Gawel gave a single nod in acknowledgment of her thanks. It was his job after all. He didn't bother watching her as she gathered the flowers. Instead he kept his gaze outwards and roving, always on the look out for danger. Then he thought of something he should have thought of before if he hadn't been so distracted (alright so he would never admit it, not even to himself, but the dress Sara was wearing and the way she moved as she practically glided over the muck made her but look extremely good).

When she turned and nearly ran into him, his free hand moved out to grasp her shoulder and steady her, staying perhaps a little too long before he removed it.

"All finished. Shall we?"

Again Gawel nodded but before he left he took hold of her wrist lightly and tied a red ribbon around it. "A charm," he said. "I bought it from a witch a couple of years back and forgot I had it. It will repel the drowners from you while you wear it." It wouldn't stop them from chasing him so as he led the way through the swamplands he followed the same path he had cut his way through on the way there, figuring they would run into less monsters that way. Of course, the never ending drowners still managed to find him but as they avoided Sara he was able to kill them with an almost contemptuous ease.

"You were going to ask me a question before," he said, remembering now. "I have no doubt you still wish to ask it."

Sara allowed him to take her wrist. Only because she was shocked he touched her at all, she told herself. Where his fingers had touched, her skin tingled, and she watched with wide-eyed fascination as he tied the ribbon around her tiny wrist. She only nodded to the explaination, not trusting her voice. She felt her cheeks grow hot, and marvelled at it. For heaven's sake, she was blushing! Her delicate cheeks now brushed with pink as she lowered her eyes down to the ribbon again.

She followed silently as Gawen cut down any of the monsters that came out from the water, and before she knew it, she was back in her Winter. Hoping it would cool her cheeks, Sara made the silver clouds above them to open up, releasing a slow falling of snow. She took a deep breath, tilting her face up to the sky and relishing the feel of the feathery snowflakes falling against her skin. When she finally looked back, tiny white snowflakes clung to her lashes, refusing to melt.

When he spoke, she almost jumped, forgetting that she had asked a question. "Oh, well if you don't mind answering one. I was going to ask you how strong you were." She paused a moment, holding the urge to qualify her question. "Never mind, come inside and let me look at your leg."

Damn cold. Why she had to make it snow as well as cold was beyond Gawel. Nonetheless he used the snow to clean his blade before it joined its fellow on his back.

"Oh, well if you don't mind answering one. I was going to ask you how strong you were."

An eyebrow rose at her question; that was definitely not what he had expected. He had thought it might have been something about his training or his physiology or his past or something. That was usually what people who were interested in witchers asked. And he knew she was interested (he was oblivious to the fact that it was him as a person he was interested in rather than him as a profession) since he had felt her watching him closely.

"A measure of strength is in the eye of the beholder, is it not? And not just a measure but what accounts to strength. You will need to be a little more specific than that," he said.

"Never mind, come inside and let me look at your leg."

He shook his head. "It doesn't need it," he said again. In truth it had pained him a little as he fought and had caused an opening since he was favouring it lightly but against anyone but an expert swordsman that would make little difference; the monsters he fought on a day to day basis weren't intelligent enough to first spot and then exploit such a weakness. He glanced at the sky, spotting the stars through the clouds. It was early in the morning now. "However, I wouldn't mind using your fireplace to rest until morning?" he asked, making up his mind. His leg didn't need her attention, and he would rather not show off the ugly scar tissue forming, but if he rested the acid burn on his arm would be healed by morning too. And, frankly, he would rather rest indoors by a fire than outside.

Sara was caught off guard, and before she realized it, she was agreeing. "Yes, of course. I have an extra bed you may use to rest. Please, come inside." She ushered him into the humble room that served most of her needs, the fire in the middle of the front wall having burned itself down to coals now. Gliding smoothly over to the stove, she bent down and tossed a couple of wood pieces on, hoping they would catch by themselves.

"Sit." She instructed when she noticed he had come inside the door and no farther. As she watched him, she crossed the room and moved into the kitchen corner and began to throw several things into a dish and grind them, adding pinches of this and that along the way. Within a moment, she had a thick green poultice and brought it over to Gawen. "You may not think you need it, but you do. It will also help for the acid burn on your arm." She held it out and waited for him to take the small bowl, meeting his eyes with minimal emotion, daring him to contradict her. "And as to question... I can see that you are extremely well muscled," Sara regretted the choice of words and could feel her cheeks growing hot as she continued to prattle on. "and I was just curious if all of that was gained by physical work alone, or if the mutations of the witcher process took the credit." She resisted the urge to bang her forehead on the wall.

'You're being an idiot! What is it about this man that makes you blush and prattle about like silly girl?!' Sara mentally chastised herself. She thought she had made peace with never being part of the happy couples you see walking together on the street, never being in love, never getting married or having children. It was well known that sorceresses were barren, and while the magic hadn't completely robbed her of her fertility, it would in time. Add that to her Elven blood, which made it even more difficult to conceive children, and in a shorter time frame than humans, it seemed an impossible dream. But now, here she was, acting like a regular child.

"The door to your right is the one you can stay in. I'm not expecting any other company, so you may stay for as long as you have a mind to." She surprised herself by tacking on that last part. Was she insane?

Gawel entered the rather cosy house and looked around, a small smile touching his lips. It was small, but a nice affair and rather homey. He felt rather out of place standing there, truth be told; he had never had a home like this, witchers moved around for far too long, wandering from city to city to avoid the hatred and prosecution, staying at inns or out of doors, even Kaer Morhen, though it had become his home and often still was where he wintered, was cold and unwelcoming compared to this. It made him almost regret that this was just a visit for a night before he was to move on.

"You may not think you need it, but you do. It will also help for the acid burn on your arm."

Then again, he thought, the nagging could get on his nerves. He sighed and took the bowl, moving to the fireplace and sitting it on the ground next to him before he sat near it, now completely ignoring it. Kneeling there, he closed his eyes as the warmth washed over him, easing the aches. "How about we wait until morning. Then you can inspect the burn and if you decide then that it needs tending to you can, and I'll even let you look at my leg then too," he said. He knew full well that by morning there would be little more than pinkish skin where the burn was but it seemed that Sara refused to believe him. If she would wait until morning to see it then she could be sure. Besides, witchers were trained to work through any pain or injuries they obtained and a little burn on the forearm was nothing more than a nuisance.

"And as to question... I can see that you are extremely well muscled, and I was just curious if all of that was gained by physical work alone, or if the mutations of the witcher process took the credit."

Gawel rolled his shoulders, loosening the muscles there as he considered his answer. "The mutation is part of it, surely. All children who survive the mutation are strong, they have to be. But as I am now? Mostly just the life I lead. Potions make it more noticeable," he said. He was glad he hadn't had to use potions for this job; his appearance tended to frighten people especially those who had never worked with a witcher before. Despite her rather haughty façade and somewhat overbearing hidden nature, Gawel found he rather liked the young sorceress and didn't want to frighten her off by what he looked like.

Sara couldn't help but roll her eyes at him. He was almost as stubborn as she was for heaven's sake! If he wanted to wait the night out in pain, that was up to him, but at least he seemed confidant about it. Or maybe arrogantly macho, is how she should phrase it. She listened to his answer of her question intently, storing the information away in her multitude of knowledge. Having a witcher in her home who was answering, if not completely willing, her questions was great. She just hoped she didn't come off as too bold with her questions.

"I know of the potions you witchers take, and have read the brief description of what happens. But, if you don't mind another question, what does it feel like?" Sara had never been brave enough to try any of the form altering, or even enhancing potions that she had read and learned about. Fixing her ears was as close as she's ever gotten.

Sara moved to where Gawen sat and joined him, enjoying the fire's warmth. She sat down, her legs curled around to the side, with her feet nearly touching her bum while she used one hand to prop herself up. She watched his form in the flickering firelight, her eyes catching how the light jumped over the creases of his clothing, casting miniature shadows. She could certainly get used to having him around. Only to further her knowledge, of course.

Gawel considered her question for some time before eventually answering. "That... depends on the potion. And more specifically, the potion's toxicity. I don't know what you've read about witchers; the only things I have read about us are the scathing pamphlets that are passed around and published anonymously. But part of the Trials of the Grasses, perhaps the most deadly part, is where a vast number of poisons and toxins are ingested, to build up immunity. Every body is different so every body can handle a different level of toxicity. My body is about average I suppose. But as for what it feels like for me personally. Most of them it's pain, intense but brief. The levels of toxins determines how painful and for how long, as well as how many other potions I've ingested previously," he said.

He hoped he wasn't giving away any witcher secrets by divulging any of this. He doubted it. It wasn't like he was involved in the actual mutation process, he had never witnessed one apart from his own so didn't know what exactly was involved. Besides, as he remembered, it needed a mage so the mutegens were still safe in Kaer Morhen. And he wasn't told not to tell before he left so he supposed it was fine.

He fell silent again. He wasn't really used to making conversation with anyone; so far he had failed to make any fast friends outside of Kaer Morhen and none of them women. So he wasn't sure exactly how he was expected to act around her.

Sara was silent as well, not feeling awkward at all in the silences. Most of the people who came to her didn't enjoy conversation much, preferring to tell her what ailed them, and where it hurt, then leaving it at that. She was content in silence, but Gawen's energy told her that he wasn't as comfortable.

"Would you like some coffee or tea?" Sara asked as she stood, smoothing the skirt of her dress out. Before he answered, she made it over to the kitchen where she filled up her kettle with water. She moved back to the fire and set it on the hook, swinging the arm over the fire. She dusted the bit of soot that had clung itself to her palms on a rag hanging over the back of the arm.

Sara then moved back to the kitchen and brought out two cups, and a small container that held her favorite blend of tea. Opening the lid, she was hit with the strong aroma. It was a black tea, made from ordinary tea leaves, among a few other herbs that she grew in her room. "Are you hungry? I have some stew left over from my meals yesterday if you are interested."

"Tea, please," he said softly. He wasn't particularly fond of coffee and his body was so mutated to the point where cafine no longer gave him the same buzz it gave most people. Tea, however, he still found relaxing. As Sara bustled about getting tea and things, Gawel stared into the fire, watching it flicker and burn, slowing his breathing to become very deep and slow. This sort of light meditation was best for rest in an unfamiliar setting. It allowed his body to rest and recuperate while at the same time keeping his senses alert enough to be aware of what was going on around him and to whether his medallion starts vibrating warning him of danger.

"Are you hungry? I have some stew left over from my meals yesterday if you are interested."

Although Gawel could come out of his medative state in an instant if required, he took his time this time, eventually turning his eyes back to Sara. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly and he said, "That would be nice, thank you."

He fell silent again before asking a question of his own. "How do the people here treat you? I see you're half-elven and from what I have seen of the world so far, mostly the elder races are met with scorn at least. Is that how you got those scars?" he asked. He had noticed, finally, the scars on her ears that looked as though someone had cut the points off in an attempt to either degrade her or make her look human. Gawel wasn't sure which since, even though half-elves looked more human than elf they still had elven features. Though he was sure it was probably a sensitive subject, his voice was soft and gentle, compelling even. He didn't judge her for being half-elven but, as she was curious about the witchers, he was curious about the world around him that he had been kept from for the vast majority of his life.

Bringing the bowl of tea leaves and the cups to the fire, she nearly dropped them at his question. She set the cups and bowl down hastily, her movements less smooth than they had been. She regained her steady composure quickly, but was still shaken at the question. Sara went back to her ice chest, where she kept her food stuffs cold, and pulled out the pot of leftover stew. It would go over the fire to heat when the tea kettle sounded.

At first, she didn't quite know how to respond. But since he had answered her questions, it was rude for her not to answer his single one. She set the pot down beside her as she sat next to him again, handing him a cup and taking the other into her own hands. She pinched some leaves into hers and held it, her fingertips pressed firmly into the sides. Keeping her eyes focussed on the fire, she decided to open her mouth, unsure of what would come out.

"I'm treated with wariness. The locals fear me, but still bring their ailing to me, which I should be thankful for. If you hadn't heard before you came out, I'm called aili shor. The winter witch." She couldn't help but spit the last word out venomously. "As for my ears..." she paused, collecting her thoughts. "the short story is my mother was human and fell in love with an elf. They married in secret, and I was the result of that union. My great uncle annulled their marriage and cast my father out of town, and when I was born, my grandmother cut my ears off. Rounded them more human like." Her teal eyes darkened as she continued to stare into the fire, her back straight and rigid. Her right hand moved up to her ear and gently moved the hair away. "I was told this when I was very young, and I attempted to heal my ears back to how they would have been. I was overzealous, and while I did a fair job, I couldn't get rid of the scar tissue completely."

Breaking her out of her trance, the kettle began it's shrill whistling. Thankful for the distraction, Sara grabbed the rag and swung the arm out, reaching for the kettle. She poured the hot water into their cups and set the kettle on the stone, replacing the soup on the arm and putting it over the fire. "Shouldn't take too long to heat." She said, by way of changing the subject, her voice back to it's normal tone and curtness.

Gawel had the sense to keep his eyes on the fire both as he asked the question and as it was answered. In truth while the village people's reaction didn't surprise him he was a little disgusted, though again not really surprised, that it was family who had done it. Then again, it had to be assumed that his own family had gotten rid of him in some shape or form since he had wound up a witcher. He just didn't remember them and had no one to tell him what exactly had happened that led him being taken by the witchers. Sometimes he wondered what might happen should he run into his family but such speculation was useless; he was eight years old when he started the Trial of he Grasses and the mutation process. They would not recognize him just as he wouldn't recognize them. Still, sometimes he wondered.

"Shouldn't take too long to heat."

Gawel nodded at that and accepted the subject change as well. Vaguely he wondered where he might go from here but he didn't give it much thought; a witcher went where there were monsters to kill and work to be found. So it had been for the four years since leaving Kaer Morhen. And most of the time he was content with that. It was just times like this, where he caught a glimpse of another life, that sometimes he longed for something else and wondered what his life might have been like had he not become a witcher. Pointless speculation of course but still...

Sara enjoyed the silence afterwards, forcing her mind to not dwell on her past, and it seemed her mind needed little prompting to think of something else. Mainly, the witcher sitting beside her. He couldn't be much older than she was, and his thick black hair made him look younger than he probably was, but knowing that witchers, like elves, aged more slowly, it was impossible to tell how old he was.

'Or maybe...' Her mind thought. Before she completely thought out what she was doing, she stretched a tiny tendril of magic out to the witcher, looking at him through different eyes. She could see his wound on his leg, a bright red streak pulsing, drawing her attention to it. She moved on, to the red circles on his arm that she knew were the acid burns. Going past his physical outside, she began to study his bones and muscle. The mutations had changed a lot, but they couldn't change his basic structure. Reading his bones like a witch reads tea leaves, she concluded his age to be mid-twenties, which surprised her more than it should have. A very experienced witcher probably wouldn't have gotten the wound in the first place, and if they had, wouldn't be balking at taking her advice and poultice.

She drew the magic back out and refocused on the fire and the stew pot. She saw tiny bubbles popping on the surface and gave a slight, sharp nod. "It's ready." Standing, she floated across the floor to the kitchen corner and grabbed a wooden ladle and matching bowls and spoons. She scooped out Gawel's bowl first, giving him two heaping spoon fulls, coming very close to over flowing the bowl. She took half a ladle full for herself then sat back down to eat, feeling somewhat awkward at the notion of having someone to eat with.

Gawel felt something tingle within him when Sara sent her magic into him but, not having felt magic worked on him, he couldn't identify it as that. He had his suspicions of course, and from the corner of his eye he could see the way Sara was looking at him, but he had no proof so he said nothing. After all, he couldn't feel anything that felt like healing, and he had consumed plenty of Swallow potions to know what that felt like.

"It's ready."

Gawel gave a single nod and allowed her to spoon a rather large helping into a bowl for him. "Thank you," he said. He took a mouthful and smiled. "This is good," he said before continuing to eat. It had been some time before he had eaten something this nice; last time it had been at an inn over a month ago where the inn keeper's wife happened to be a good cook. Again the awkward silence. Usually in an inn he would play some dice while eating, try and win a few extra orens, though often losing just as much. After he had discovered the game, perhaps a month or two after leaving Kaer Morhen, he had fallen in love with it, the strategies, the skills and the luck that governed all. It allowed everyone to play, even those who couldn't read and write could match the pattens on the dice. But of course, he had never seen any women play, though he had heard tell of some very good professional players in the big cities like Vizima. He had yet to travel there, though, so had yet to meet any. He just didn't know what he was supposed to say to a woman. So he kept his silence. Most people seemed to prefer witchers to be silent anyway he had learnt. Helped them believe they were nothing more than unthinking killers. He doubted that Sara was one of those people - for a start she had shown an interest in learning about his kind - but it was just easier to fall into old habits.