A MUDDIED HAND BREAKS through the surface, clawing and scraping at the mud as she drags herself up out of the grave. gasping, coughing up dirt and soil as the downpour makes her exit from the hole she’s buried in harder; ground is slick and mud threatens to reclaim her.

     she needs something solid to latch on to, something to give her leverage so she can pull herself free. hand searches blindly until it grasps a rock. slipping, slipping–no, not again, not when she’s so close. determination fuels her. fingers find a hold in a crack and she pulls. pulls, pulls, pulls until she’s lying in the mud with the rain pouring down on her. she’s done it, she’s free. she’s alive.

     but where’s jaskier?

     for a long while all she can do is lay in the mud. breathing feels almost foreign at this point, like she hasn’t done it in ages and needs to remember how. this is nothing like what’s happened before, when she’s been dead only a few minutes. but there’s no time to dwell. she has more important things to do–she needs to find him.

     it takes weeks to finally track him down, but rayne keeps her distance. she’s careful, unsure how to approach him given how things have played out. she’s supposed to be dead, and she isn’t sure how to reveal herself again so it’s better she stays just out of view. a fleeting image, a ghost. she’ll stay that way, just out of reach, until she can figure it out–half of her wonders if he’s better off thinking she’s dead. rayne wonders if perhaps it’s better she takes her leave. he never has to know she’s alive. the thought makes her heart ache. god she’s too selfish.

     pulled from her thoughts at the sound of things going awry, rayne glances up only to find bandits have decided to make him their next target. it’s a poor decision really.

     with her hood secured she steps out of the shadowed part of the woods, a low whistle sounding to grab their attention. she doesn’t say anything, but her head tilts beneath the hood and she raises a hand to point a finger in the other direction as an indication they should leave, but they don’t.

"Lonely. What were you expecting me to say?" Snapping at the bard was something that came easy to her. Their previous interactions showed her that neither of them were ever going to get along. Were it not for that damn witcher they probably would've killed each other by now. But Geralt was gone and she — she was once again alone. She can't help but wonder if he was alone now, too. In all honesty, she wasn't too keen on finding out what happened with him. She had enough problems of her own without adding his. Unfortunately, Yen knew that this conversation wasn't going to get any easier. But maybe they could come to some sort of truce. Before it ended up in violence. "Did you think it was some sort of party?"

"Wha —" Jaskier looked at the woman in front of him. Despite her being a slight bit smaller than he was, she held his jaw in a tight enough grip she could make him look directly into her dark brown eyes with a little too much ease.

He had been in a very spirited discussion with a beautiful young woman, telling her about the inspirations for his songs and the creative process he usually went through. Right in the middle of his story about the howls that could be heard in the distance at night these days and all the stories about wolves and monsters the locals began spinning around it, the stranger had interrupted him. Jaskier had told her to be patient and wait until he was done talking about the things he had heard the locals report about but the stranger didn't seem to be in a patient mood.

Now the woman he had originally been talking to was gone and he was staring at a new face. Jaskier lifted his hand and tried to wipe her hand out of his face, "Unhand me!" "Do we know each other?" he asked, a little sour about the situation, as well as a little worried he might actually know her. If so, he had forgotten where from.

Mistral entered the tavern right after dusk. A couple of patrons - if mercy could grace them with such name - darted a long look at her ass as she made her way to the counter. She perched on a stool beckoning at the innkeeper. 

"Vodka," she mouthed.

The place reeked of sweat and misery. Right in the middle of the room, two girls were dancing upon a table, their movements an inviting promise for those willing to spend a few extra coppers. A couple of dancers were taking a break from work. They were sitting at a table across the room. 

A man with fancy clothes was there too. A third girl next to Mistral said something about the man with words that would have made blush a docker. She joined the others swaying her hips as she walked, her attire leaving little to the imagination. She let her body slide across the table, resting her chin on her hands as she listened to the man. 

Lambert was right. Tracking down the bard proved quite easy. Mistral knocked back the vodka, slid a coin on the counter, and went to sit next to the merry group.

So that was the famous Jaskier. A little taller than she thought, fine features, sparkling eyes, and a silver tongue. As a matter of fact, the man didn't keep quiet for a second. Mistral learned more about the recent events in the span of half an hour than in the last month. When finally he started spilling about what she wanted to know, she grew impatient. The bard was a little louder than she liked. If wolves were actually involved, she didn't want him to spread the news any further. Especially if Blackthorn was with them. Mistral decided it was time to grasp Jaskier's attention. Literally. She grabbed his face and locked eyes with him.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Jaskier jumped a bit on the large tree trunk he had been lounging on for the better part of an hour. The relative silence around them had made him think he was the only person awake.  Had he not just been startled enough, he almost slipped off his seat, he would have been amazed how a man of Geralt's size could sneak up on people. Though, he was sure, sneaking up on him had not been the man's intention. "Now I sure won't sleep for another hour, at least." He rubbed his eyes and looked up at the starlit sky above them. Jaskier was pretty sure that he had internally checked out without actually falling asleep when Geralt had come around. Exhaustion would do that to a man.

"You can't sleep either?" Jaskier asked after a moment had passed, admitting Geralt had been right without openly admitting it. "You're welcome to sit on my tree, talk about it."

       >> ⚔️ <<               THE RESPONSE IMMEDIATELY    told him that sleep was not on the agenda for jaskier    (    nor his as he wasn’t sleeping anytime soon    ).    the silence the two of them shared had been suffocating,    but with all that was    going on  geralt wanted to be sure the other man was fine.    his heart rate quickened at his question,    which signalled to him that all was well.    something    WOULD HAVE HAPPENED    by now if he was wrong.

HE SQUINTS AS HE    keeps distance    behind    him for a moment,   new habits dying hard before closing the space slowly.             ❝       SORRY    --------    DIDN’T MEAN    to alarm you,    jaskier.       ❞          he breathes,    giving glance down to roach whom was now trying to lick jaskier’s hands    WHILE SHE WHINES.

Jaskier nodded, the movement making his head swim and him feel dizzy. He held on to her arm a little harder to keep himself upright and not fall over into dead leaves, ash, and blood.      “Okay,” he agreed, not asking her what it could possibly mean to move fast after pulling a giant wooden stake out of someone. Those details he would hardly have been able to memorize in the condition he was in. “Problem of the future. Gotcha.”      Rayne’s hand was cold. Shockingly cold because he was so warm. It was like he was touching a ghost or a dead thing which brought back the image of black veins under white skin, pulsing and bleeding into her eyes until there was nothing left of the person whose hand he was holding now.     It jolted him, keeping him from falling over his own feet when they finally started moving. The night was still dark even without unnatural causes making it worse. His eyes hadn’t adjusted yet and he was following her blindly, quite literally, for the first few steps. Soon, he could make out trees and large objects, could see her in front of him clearly but he wasn’t sure what they were walking towards. He had to trust her and, weirdly, he did. Despite what he had seen, she had saved his life and she was still in the process of saving it now.     A few times, Jaskier stumbled on uneven ground, feet dragging and catching on bumps and twigs and roots and piles of leaves. Almost anything had become and obstacle. Her hand was the only thing preventing him from falling over one time when he stumbled badly along the way. His shoulder was throbbing, the makeshift bandage feeling more uncomfortable every step they went further into the woods. The bleeding had stopped now but he still felt like he was bleeding and that worried him. Meanwhile, he could see the stake protruding out of Rayne’s shoulder. She had to be in pain worse than he was.     The forest was an unforgiving place in the best circumstances. In circumstances such as these, it was worse. And like it happened in places that were naturally horrible to traverse, travelers had, over time, made changes to make the place easier to be in and built shelters to keep themselves and others safe on the way.      It was one of those places that they came upon. Jaskier didn’t see it until they were almost at the door of the abandoned hut. He felt Rayne tug and stumbled forward, grunting in pain.      “Care to elaborate on a place?” he asked, taking heavy breaths every other word. “Everywhere is a place. Not that I’m picky.”     He saw the shack as soon as he was done talking, uttering a soft ‘ah’ as he understood. In the darkness, Jaskier couldn’t see how bad off the hut was. It was ramshackle, dirty and overgrown but it’s got walls and a door and it’s better than anything they could have hoped to find.     Jaskier had been starting to feel cold despite the cloak he was wearing. Rayne had to be freezing. Not losing any time, Rayne went in and Jaskier followed necessarily because she had his hand still clasped in hers. He only pulled it out of hers once they were inside so that he could push the door closed and fall back against it.     Falling back against the door with his shoulder turned out to be a bad idea. He screamed in pain, gritting his teeth as he tried to breathe through the pain. He put his hand on the shoulder expecting it to come back with fresh blood but it didn’t. All blood on it was already starting to dry and would flake off his skin soon.     “Hmmm — yes, bad idea,” he commented, voice pressed, “Definitely not doing that again.”

    Jaskier looked up and over at Rayne, wondering how he had managed to walk all the way without collapsing. He was breathing hard, his lungs burning and his shoulder stinging and throbbing still.     The shack was quiet. One only realized how loud the forest was once it lay behind. The walls didn’t help too much but they did isolate. Especially against the wind that had rustled his hair and pulled at his cloak while they were outside. The wind howled outside and rattled on leaves and twigs and the walls of the hut but it didn’t reach them anymore. Jaskier was thankful for that.

    “What —” Jaskier started, swallowing hard around a lump in his throat. His eyes caught on the stake in Rayne’s shoulder. It taunted him with its presence alone and it frightened him with the possibility of killing Rayne even after they had escaped the battle or with the image of it coming alive at night to finish taking their lives as the monster had intended.     “What do we do now?” They couldn’t make a fire in the building. No matter how old and ramshackle it was, Jaskier would prefer if it burned without him inside. Unless, he thought, it had a fireplace. Jaskier squinted and looked along the walls.

     FINDING THE SHACK is an instance of utter luck, but at this point it’s not something she’s going to spit on. especially not when her life isn’t the only one on the line here–playing chicken with death when she’s the only player is one thing, but she won’t dare to play that same game with jaskier’s life. absolutely not.

     the yelp of pain immediately causes her to turn, concern etched into her features as she takes a step toward the bard with a hand outstretched. she’s poised to touch him, to check if he’s alright, but something stops her. for the briefest of seconds there’s  flicker of GUILT that passes through her eyes. rayne is glad it’s dark. it lets her hide.      instead she changes her path, fingers carefully grabbing the hem of the cloak and carefully repositioning it around jaskier’s shoulders so it keeps him warm. she can’t risk him getting hypothermia or going into shock. her touch lingers a little longer than it needs to as she looks him over to ensure his shoulder is the only injury he’s sustained.      then he’s looking at her shoulder and asking what to do.      ❝let’s just get our bearings in here first, see what we have to work with.❞ the nod that pairs with soft words–a tone that rarely ever surfaces with her–is meant to reassure jaskier that all will be well. as sure as her words may sound, she doesn’t really know.

     distance is put between them as rayne turns to survey the shack herself. it’s not much by any means, but tonight it’s their saving grace. neither of them would survive being out in that wind all night.      cabin walls are decorated in little more than a layer of dust and suspicious red-brown stains that rayne suspects are blood. it’s no surprise they aren’t the first injured guests this place has housed, and she doubts they’ll be the last. this isn’t what she’s looking for. rayne needs to be able to start a fire, not just to bring some warmth back into their bones but to sort out her shoulder. a fireplace is the most idea, the safest for them, but she’ll take something as simple as even a cooking pot. anything that she can contain a fire in if only for a short while.

     a step forward to investigate things more closely leads her to stumble slightly. rayne has to reach out and use the closest wall to steady herself, posture rigid as she stands statue-still. her head is spinning in the slightest and she can’t focus until it stops.      a breath and a moment later, she’s moving again. she’s forcing herself to keep moving despite the protesting from her overworked and horridly abused body. rayne’s always asked too much of her body, more than it can handle. but she has to do this, she has to fix this. rayne needs to have the answers and get them through this because she’s the one that dragged jaskier into it.

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          A hand is raised and a single digit is extended to silence him, though it won’t work for too long. She knows he can’t keep it buttoned forever, the need to speak and make noise is just too much for him to contain.