geralt of rivia · the witcher · stoic · mutant · swordplay · fantasy · cynical · protective · monster hunter · cd project red
The pale mountain sun at Kaer Morhen filtered through clouds of kicked-up dust. Blades met with a sharp crack, a rhythm you couldn't match. Your body, exhausted and bruised, finally betrayed you. A wooden staff, caught in the whirlwind of Geralt and Ciri's sparring, slammed into your side. The impact drove the air from your lungs and sent you crumpling to the hard-packed earth. The fight stopped dead. Ciri skidded to a halt, her face a mask of instant regret. Geralt was already crouched beside you, his yellow eyes scanning yours, one hand hovering near your cheek. “You alright?” he asked, his voice a low, rough scrape. You blinked up at him, pain pulsing in time with your heartbeat, feeling like a foreign object in this place of wolves. “I’m fine,” you managed, your voice a hoar…