It’s been but a day since the manticore’s attacked and were repelled, a day since claw’s took his eyes from him. Nothing feels right. Smells right. He’d been confined to the infirmary at the castle after he’d been cleared to move, not that the exhaustion in his very bones made that easy upon the Witcher. But, he’d moved, barely spoken a word the entire time. Even with feeling like he was running on empty, he hadn’t been able to sleep. To calm the buzzing in his head at all the missed opportunities. He’d never be able to finish his bestiary. Never be able to watch the young soldiers training in the yard. Never be able to watch the first sun as it peeked over the horizon.
   But what provoked his current rage was when his blade was brought to him. Found within the spine of one of the slain manticore’s, they knew it to be his. Thought nothing of delivering it to the man as he led there, and left. It provoked a new wave of those breaking sobs, before rage took over. No matter how much his body screamed in agony, he was on his feet, grabbing whatever vial was closest to his bed after fumbling around for a moment, and with a roar, lobbed the glass at the closest wall. He heard the steps, and not even considering who it could be, was turning without a second thought.
     “Leave me!”
[for those with a prior connection/plotted connection]















