Geralt bolted upright, the Wild Hunt once again invading his dreams. The very reason he had previously lost his memory. It had been a nice dream at first, a dream of little Ciri, the girl he had raised and saw as a daughter, training at Kaer Morhen with him and the handful of the others of the Wolf School who were still alive. He and Vesemir had been tracking Yennefer, the younger Witcher having received a letter to meet her in Willoughby, but when they arrived the town was in ruins, prompting the two to follow her trail. Vesemir, who was already awake, watched as Geralt stood and walked over the fire, sitting on a stump and throwing a stick into the fire before leaning his arms against his legs.

"You alright?" he asked.

Geralt gave a grunt. "Had a nightmare."

"About?" Vesemir was the oldest surviving Witcher on the Continent. He'd mentored every single living Witcher of the Wolf School, raising Geralt himself. So it was no surprise to the White Wolf that Vesemir acted fatherly towards him.

"Take forever to explain."

Vesemir gave a sigh before looking towards the east. "Dawn's some way off. We've got time."

Geralt didn't move as he watched the flames dance. "Started in the guest room at Kaer Morhen, I was relaxing in the tub and next to me..." he trailed off.

"Triss?" Vesemir prompted, naming off the red-haired sorceress Geralt had shared his heart and bed with for several years.

"Yennefer. Funny, isn't it? She's never been there. Seemed so real in my dream, though."

"Was she nagging you about something?"

"Mhm."

"True to life indeed. We'll find her."

Geralt had shared much more with Yennefer than he had with Triss, having known the raven-haired sorceress for decades. Vesemir knew the reason that Geralt had lost his memory was saving her from the Wild Hunt. She was rescued but he disappeared, turning up several years later in the forests around Kaer Morhen and found by his fellow Witchers with no idea who he was. He'd recently regained those memories, much to the relief of his friends.

"I know we will. That's not what worries me. You've seen her tracks. She's at full gallop all the time, breakneck speed through wildlands, devastated battlefields..." Geralt looked over at his mentor. "She's in a hurry to get somewhere, or fleeing something." He looked back at the fire. "Either way, it means trouble of some sort."

"Be surprised if she wasn't in trouble. She's always poked her nose into beehives. Courtly intrigues here, mage's conspiracies there. What do you expect?"

"Don't know. Guess I thought, once we were finally reunited, things would be calm. At least for a while."

Vesemir looked at Geralt like he'd completely lost his mind. "Calm? With Yennefer?" He scoffed. "Good luck."

Geralt brought the conversation back to his dream. "In the dream, I went and found Ciri, then we trained."

"Those were the days," Vesemir sighed. "Little she-devil. Trained kids who were faster, stronger, but none had her character. Although I'll dare say, Juray's bad influence helped with that." Vesemir looked back at Geralt when he didn't respond. The mention of the younger Witcher usually elected some sort of response out of Geralt, as the two had been close. "Didn't end well, did it? Your dream?"

Geralt shook his head. "No. The Wild Hunt appeared, attacked Ciri. I couldn't move. Stood there like a stump."

Vesemir understood then why Geralt had acted the way he had upon waking. "It was just a dream," he assured him.

"That's the problem. It was more. In the past, when Ciri'd appear in my dreams, something was wrong. She was in danger."

"We taught her how to defend herself from anything, wraiths included."

Geralt looked up as the sun's rays began to lighten the sky. "Be dawning soon. Time to go."

Vesemir sighed as he stood, feeling as ancient as he was, as Geralt headed over to the horses. "Wait. Show me the letter from Yennefer. Might've overlooked some hint there."

"Didn't overlook anything," Geralt said gruffly as he buckled the straps of his swords into place. "We were meant to meet in Willoughby. That's what she wrote. Meanwhile, one army or another burned the village to the ground." Geralt sounded annoyed by this. "All we can do is follow her trail, so..."

"Stop talking for a minute and give me the letter. Gods, I think I liked it better when you were the grouchy silent type." Geralt gave him a look, but handed him the letter. "Well, how about that!" he added as he opened it. "It does smell of lilac and gooseberry."

"I thought you were gonna read it, not sniff it."

Vesemir gave him a look before actually reading the letter. "We must meet. Soon." He read aloud. "Willoughby. Near Vizima. Hmm. Nothing else to guide us there."

"Happy now?"

"What's this postscript? I still have the unicorn."

"You don't want to know. It's... very private."

Vesemir gave a laugh. "I understand. At least I think I do."

Geralt sighed and took the letter, returning it to the pack at the back of his belt.

"Maybe not entirely."

"Mhm."

"Probably for the best."

"Back on topic. How far behind Yennefer do you think we are?"

"Two or three days. The trail's fresh, but it looks like it heads towards the main road. Could get muddled there."

Geralt turned his head, the smell of rotting flesh reaching his nose. Along with his wolf's head medallion trembling on his chest. The two Witchers turned as the horses nickered.

"You hear that?"

"I smell it," Geralt said as he drew his silver sword. "Ghouls."

Four of the monsters charged at them. Humanoid in appearance, they looked and smelled like rotting corpses that ran on all fours, with large maws that would tear flesh from bone and claws equally as dangerous. The two Witchers easily dispatched the creatures.

"Of course," Vesemir grouched. "When armies pass, necrophages follow. Let's go before more show up."

The two mounted and Vesemir led the way.

"Did I ever tell you about a sorcerer I knew?" Geralt asked as they rode together. "Couldn't stop talking about how useful they are as creatures."

"Because you can brew potions from their blood?"

Geralt gave a scoff of a laugh. "No. Because by eating rotting corpses they prevent epidemics."

Vesemir scoffed. "Did he know they eat the living as well?"

"No. Really upset him too. His theory collapsed."

"What did he expect?"

"Well, it's what he got for bringing that theory to a Witcher."

They rode in silence for a little while until they passed through a ransacked village.

"War's not exactly going our way."

"We have a side?" Geralt questioned.

"The Northern Realms."

"Radovid's Realms, don't you mean? Temeria and Aedirn are no more."

"Radovid's pledged to restore the old borders. Soon as he wins the war."

"Believe that?"

Vesemir grunted. "Gotta believe something. It's what keeps us going."

Geralt scoffed as they approached a bridge, his medallion suddenly warning him of a nearby monster by violently dancing on his chest. "Vesemir."

"Mine too. Big one."

They could hear the creature screeching and someone screaming for help. Geralt urged his horse into a gallop, Vesemir right behind him. They came upon an overturned cart, a screaming merchant trying to hide from it, and a large griffin, a creature with the body of a lion and head, wings, and talons of an eagle, feeding on a dead horse. Geralt did an emergency dismount and charged at the griffin, leaping at it as it rose into the air and managing to slice into its chest with his silver sword. It went out of reach before wheeling around and diving towards them. Geralt dodged and Vesemir gave a cry of pain. The griffin went back into the air before wheeling around and heading back toward them. It overshot Geralt and grabbed the dead horse, before flying away with its meal. Geralt scowled as he sheathed his sword and turned to see Vesemir with a hand pressed against his shoulder from where a talon had breached his armor. He immediately gave his mentor a concerned look. Once Vesemir realized that Geralt had noticed, he waved him off.

"Has- has it gone?" the merchant asked.

Geralt turned his head toward the overturned cart. "Yeah. Come out."

The merchant came out and looked at his saviors, immediately realizing they were Witchers. "Gods, that was close. I was sure I'd end up like my mare."

"Provided you got lucky," Vesemir said.

"Your horse died quickly," Geralt added. "Griffins like to toy with their prey. Eat it alive, piece by piece."

The merchant's eyes widened and he nodded. "You'd... you'd like a reward, I suppose?"

Geralt shook his head. "You don't owe us anything." Vesemir glanced over at him. "You were in need, we helped."

The merchant looked surprised. "And they call Witchers heartless. Say they won't lift a finger without pay."

"They also say mice are born of rotting straw."

The merchant gave an agreeable nod before turning back to his cart and Geralt turned to Vesemir.

"Back to the trail?" The White Wolf asked.

"Like I said, leads to the main road and ends there. Muddled."

"You seek someone?" the merchant asked.

"Yes, a woman," Geralt answered. "Medium height, long black hair. Seen anyone like that?"

"No, but... there's an inn in White Orchard. Sole one around. Gets its share of travelers, perhaps you'll learn something there. Besides, the innkeeper's my cousin. Tell her Bram sent you, she'll treat you like family."

"Not a bad idea." He looked over at Vesemir. "Especially since that wound needs cleaning."

"Bah!" Vesemir waved his hand. "Beast barely grazed me. But sure... could use some rye. Nice and cool, you know, straight from a cellar?"

An amused look entered Geralt's eye. "Let's go."

Vesemir and Geralt headed towards White Orchard.

"A griffin this close to the village?" Geralt said. "Strange."

"My thoughts exactly," Vesemir agreed. "In a forest or a mountain, sure, but here? And near the main road?"

"Maybe it's the war? Corpses everywhere, the stench of blood, burnt flesh... drives monsters crazy sometimes."

"Men, too. We need to watch ourselves in White Orchard. And we should leave as soon as we learn anything."

"Agreed."

The two dismounted at the inn and went inside. All eyes immediately went to them. They ignored it, used to the stares they always received.

"Witchers?" a man said, surprised. "Didn't one just leave?"

Vesemir and Geralt headed towards the bar to speak to the innkeeper.

"I'll not drink with weevil-arsed freaks," another said as they passed.

Geralt stopped and looked over his shoulder at him before moving on.

"Beg your pardon for those thugs," the innkeeper said, an older woman that looked to be the same age as Vesemir appeared.

"No need," the elder Witcher said. "We're used to it."

"Folk are jumpy round here. Armies just passed through, now a griffin's prowlin' about."

"Mhm," Geralt said. "Already had the pleasure. Ran into your kinsman, Bram."

"Bram? How is he?"

"Alive," Vesemir said. "Sends his regards."

"Master Witchers, food and drink on the house. What can I get you?"

"Looking for a woman," Geralt said. "Raven-haired, violet eyes. Dresses in black and white. Riding in from Willoughby. And, uh, strange as it sounds... lilac and gooseberries, might've smelled that."

"I've not seen nor smelt such a lady. Believe I'd remember. Had you said it was a snowed haired lady, aye."

"Snow haired lady? Another Witcher?"

The innkeeper nodded. "Aye, took out a noonwraith in the abandoned village up the hill. Pity she moved on before the griffin showed."

"There a Contract on it?"

"Nay, not at the moment. Used to be, as soon as a beast'd build a nest nearby, the ealdorman'd start a collection, or go to the lord for help. Now the ealdorman don't use the privy without askin' the Black Ones' permission first. And seems they hanged the lord, so no Contract."

"Shame," Vesemir said. "We might have done something, but not for free."

"We get a lot of travelers, so maybe someone else saw your lady. Wouldn't hurt to ask."

"Thanks."

Vesemir went and claimed a table in the corner.

"Need help bandaging that up?"

Vesemir waved him off. "Please. I'm not decrepit yet."

"Then I'll ask around about Yennefer."

"Be careful. Don't draw too much attention to yourself."

"Yes, Uncle Vesemir."

"Get outta here, Wolf."

Geralt was largely ignored by the patrons, a group of three making a show of leaving and one muttering about freaks ruining his day. Geralt noticed that a bald-headed man had been watching his every move and upon noticing Geralt's eyes upon him, he motioned for the Witcher to join him.

"Looking for a woman," Geralt said upon sitting.

"Ahh, like everyone," the man replied.

"Not like everyone. And not just any woman. Mine smells of lilac and gooseberries, dresses in black and white."

The man waved at the innkeeper. "Two schnappses." She nodded and went to retrieve the drinks. "It'll lift your spirits."

"Fine, I'll have a drink." This seemed to please the man. "Can we cut to the chase? You seen her or not?"

"Yennefer of Vengerburg?"

Geralt looked at him, surprised, as the innkeeper set their drinks on the table. After she left, Geralt answered, "I never mentioned her name."

"Yet you described her perfectly. And once I hear something, I never forget. I can't help it."

"What do you do? Who are you?"

"A mangy vagrant," he answered with a smile. "Gaunter O'Dimm, at your service."

"Vagrant. That a profession now?"

"I was once a merchant of mirrors. The madding crowd dubbed me Master Mirror, or the Man of Glass."

"How do you know Yennefer?"

"What a question! Master Dandelion's ballads, of course!"

Geralt gave a sigh at the mention of the one man that knew him better than anyone. His closest friend also happened to be a bard that liked to embellish the stories he told of Geralt's many misadventures.

"The only way a humble merchant might hope to rub up against greatness. Unless, that is, he's as lucky as I am."

"And runs into a very patient Witcher."

"Into Geralt of Rivia himself. The Butcher of Blaviken."

Geralt hated that name, given to him after he'd received word of the plans of a group of bandits to slaughter an entire town in order to draw a mage from his tower. Unfortunately, upon stopping them and with the town being oblivious of the plan, it looked like he'd killed them without cause and the name had followed him around ever since.

"Recognize me from Master Dandelion's ballads, too?"

Gaunter picked up his mug and held it up. "To your health." He tipped the drink back and Geralt did the same.

"You seen Yennefer?"

"Deepest apologies, but I must ask: is this about love?"

"That's between me and her."

"Yes, as a vagrant, I deserve no explanation."

"What do you know? Tell me."

"Before you appeared, it never occurred to me that it could have been Yennefer. Who would've thought..."

"Get to the point," Geralt all but growled, his patience with Gaunter beginning to thin.

"A Nilfgaardian scout from the local garrison saw her."

"Where?"

"At their camp. She rode in there, dark of night, black and white, gooseberries..."

Geralt leveled a look at him.

"Yes, I know. Had a terse exchange with the garrison commander and raced off."

"Where to?"

"I'm not omniscient. Ask at the garrison."

"Thanks."

"Your friend, The White Demon, also passed through here a few weeks ago. Think she was heading to Valen herself. At first thought maybe you were looking for her until you described Yennefer to me."

"I've heard she was here, but no, I'm not looking for her."

Gaunter stood. "We men of the road must stick together. Perhaps one day, I'll be in trouble and you'll be nearby to help." Gaunter left the inn and Geralt headed over to Vesemir, who was spending more time tending to the mug in front of him than the wound on his shoulder.

"Heading to the garrison. Heard Yennefer spoke to the commander. Might also see if he's willing to pay for us to do something about the griffin."

"Let's hope so. Really hate to leave that here."

As Geralt stepped out of the inn, he was met by the men that had loudly complained about the Witchers' presence.

"Done drinkin'?" one asked.

Geralt took the three in. "Mhm."

"Then fuck off!"

Another spit at him. "Don't want your kind here."

From the window of the inn, the innkeeper watched horrified, having a bad feeling that things would end badly for someone.

With a practiced hand, Geralt cast Axii. "I haven't done anything to you. So just calm down."

Unfortunately, the Sign only latched onto one of the men. "Course not... nay, uh... ye done nothing yet..."

"Whoreson's working witchcraft!" one of the other men, a tattoo-covered thug, cried. "Get him!"

Geralt gave a sigh as two of them rushed him. He took a step to the side and sent one man into the side of the inn, stunning him and gave a punch to the side of the head to the other man.

"You two done?" Both were groaning on the ground. "Good. Cause I got things to do." He walked over to Roach, his bay mare, and mounted her, turning and heading towards the Nilfgaardian garrison.