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If there was one thing that he would change about walking the Path, Geralt reflected, it would be the mud. Not the taunts from prejudiced townspeople, nor the constant shortchanging of his pay; no, it was the mud.
At this point, it had ground itself into his skin, though thankfully the rain itself had tapered off into a light mist. Even the bard seemed to feel the misery of the weather, for he was silent at Geralt’s side. Of course, it could also be because they’d been run out of yet another town, and so lost the chance at a warm bed and a hot meal.
As if reading Geralt’s mind, the bard spoke up. “It’s not that I mind, per se,” he said. “I knew, life as a travelling bard, there would be a certain amount of camping under the stars. It’s just,” he looked up at the clouds, “I usually prefer there to actually be, you know, stars. And not this wet and miserable mist.”
Geralt grunted in agreement. He usually didn’t have to contribute much to these conversations.
“And the damp,” Jaskier continued. “Do you know how bad damp is for any instrument? It will be impossible to get any tension in the strings for the next few days.”
Geralt didn’t know really how instruments worked, but he could see where water and wood would not go together well. He didn’t say so though; no need to send the bard off on a tangent.
The misting rain had nearly stopped completely by the time it started getting dark enough that Geralt thought they should start setting up camp. The woods on either side of the road were quite thick, but he could hear the sound of a small stream maybe a hundred yards in. He led Roach as best he could between the trees and thickets, trying not to wince at the sound of Jaskier crashing along behind (with a few muffled curses as various items of impractical clothing snagged on branches).
Sure enough, the forest opened up a bit once they reached the stream. Geralt allowed Roach to drink while he cleared a space to bed down. He’d nearly finished setting the tent up – contrary to what the populace and particularly romantic bards might like to think about travelers sleeping beneath the stars, Geralt did in fact carry a tent – when he noticed that Jaskier had not moved from where he stood at the edge of the clearing.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Grass here not soft enough for you?”
Jaskier’s frown didn’t change at the admittedly poor joke. “There’s something, well, off,” he said. “Something about these woods. I’ve been feeling it all day, but I thought it might just be the rain.” He glanced warily around the clearing. “I feel it more clearly here now that we’re off the trail.”
Geralt glanced around himself. He hadn’t noticed anything particularly amiss, and a Witcher’s senses were much more acute than a human’s, but Jaskier wouldn’t have brought it to his attention unless something really was bothering him. “It probably is just the rain,” he decided. “I don’t hear anything out of the ordinary.”
Jaskier still looked unsure, but he at least made his way further in the clearing and removed his pack so he could help Geralt finish setting up camp. With the wet ground and the way that that the trees were still dripping, Geralt resigned himself to sharing the tent with the bard and having to listen to his snores all night.
“I do not snore!” was the indignant protest when Geralt brought this up. “But thank you,” the bard continued. “I’m not sure I want to be out in the open by myself tonight.”
Geralt would never admit it, but having another person in the tent was comforting, even though it made things a bit tight. He listened to the sound of the bard trying to settle and Roach shifting around just outside, and finally he drifted off to sleep.
It felt like just minutes but had probably been hours when he felt Jaskier shaking his shoulder. “Geralt,” the bard hissed, too low for anyone but a Witcher to hear. “Geralt, there’s something outside the tent.”
Geralt was instantly on alert, his hand going to his swords. He shushed the bard so he could listen closely. There was the sound of Roach shifting in her sleep, and the last of the raindrops through the tree leaves, but he couldn’t hear anything else beyond that.
Slowly, he relaxed his guard. “There’s nothing there, Jaskier. You must have heard Roach.”
“There was something,” Jaskier protested. “I felt it, like a shadow passing over the tent.”
Geralt considered that there might be something more than mundane, but his medallion wasn’t vibrating and he hadn’t heard anything himself.
“Go back to sleep, Jaskier,” he said finally. “The forest has you on edge, but I promise there’s nothing.”
Jaskier frowned like he wanted to protest, but he eventually turned and settled back in his bedroll. Geralt lay back down as well, but kept his hand on his sword just in case.
He had managed to fall back asleep when there was a hand on his shoulder again. “Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, his voice shaking, “it’s out there again, closer this time.”
Geralt strained his ears again, but there were still no noises beyond the ordinary, not even anything that sounded like a larger, or even small, animal outside the tent. “I don’t hear anything, Jaskier,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice despite his best efforts.
“I don’t hear it either, but I know it’s there,” Jaskier insisted.
Geralt turned to look at him incredulously. “What, you just have a feeling?”
Rather than backing down, Jaskier raised his chin defiantly. “Yes, it is just a feeling.”
“You don’t get feelings,” Geralt said.
Jaskier squawked indignantly, his terror momentarily forgotten. “Excuse you, I have many feelings. Not all of us are emotionally constipated.”
Geralt rolled his eyes. “I meant these sorts of feelings. You never notice a monster until it’s right on top of you. Remember the nekkers? Last week?”
“I swear there was something there, Geralt,” Jaskier said, his momentary levity forgotten. “I wouldn’t have woken you for nothing.”
Geralt sighed. “Fine. Will it make you feel better if I check outside?”
Jaskier nodded, so Geralt climbed out of his warm bedroll and grabbed his boots and swords. He pushed his way out of the tent flap, on alert despite his words to Jaskier.
The forest around him was quiet and nearly still, the light of the half-moon barely making it through the cloud cover. Roach nickered to him quietly and he patted her flank. She didn’t seem bothered by anything, just sleepily shifting back and forth.
He did a quick sweep around the campsite, but heard nothing more than small creatures scurrying in the leaf litter and the occasional raindrop falling from the trees above him. He’d just about decided to go back in the tent when he noticed the packs. They’d left them outside since the packs wouldn’t fit in the tent with two people, wrapped in oilskin against the wet. At least, Geralt thought they’d wrapped the packs – the oilskin was askew and the packs looked like they’d been moved, as there was a dry patch next to them where they’d previously sat.
Suddenly much more alert, Geralt rewrapped the packs and did another sweep of the campsite, looking for any tracks or footprints that might indicate if an animal had disturbed them or if it had been something more sinister. The fact that he had heard nothing meant that it had probably been a small animal – he’d long since trained himself out of waking every time a rabbit walked by.
There were no tracks around the campsite, and with no other evidence, he patted Roach one more time and slipped back into the tent.
“Anything?” Jaskier asked.
“Something tried to get into the packs,” Geralt said, taking off his boots. “Probably just a rabbit – I didn’t see any tracks and nothing’s bothered Roach.”
Jaskier didn’t seem terribly reassured, but he didn’t push. “If you’re sure,” he said.
Geralt wasn’t, but he wasn’t about to tell Jaskier that. “It’s fine,” he said. He lay back down in his bedroll. “Try to get some more sleep – sunrise is still a few hours off.”
Despite his words to Jaskier, he still kept his hands on his swords and only let himself settle into a light doze. If something moved outside the tent, it should wake him.
It was well he’d only dozed, because he barely started when Jaskier grabbed his shoulder again. “Geralt,” he said, his voice strangled with terror. “Geralt, it’s in the tent.”
Geralt swung around, swords in hand. Finally, he felt it too, an overwhelming sense of some presence in the tent with them. His chest tightened with terror like he hadn’t felt since his first year on the Path, and it was only Jaskier’s grip on his shoulder that kept him grounded and able to pull his silver sword from its sheath.
He swung it through the air above them in the tent, careful not to hit himself or Jaskier. The presence seemed to swell for a moment, pressing down on them, before dissipating in a rush.
“Did you feel it to?” Jaskier asked, once he’d recovered enough breath to speak. “What was it?”
“I have no idea,” Geralt said. “I’ve never felt anything like it before.”
“Do you think it’s gone?” Jaskier asked, though from his tone he probably knew the answer.
Geralt concentrated on the forest around them. Now that he was attuned to it, he could sense the presence again, just outside the bounds of their tent. It would come back, and his sword was only enough to dispel, not to harm it.
“We need to leave,” Geralt decided. He didn’t want to take the chance of fighting an unknown creature in its territory with Jaskier on the line. “Start packing up. I’ll keep it away as best I can, but be quick.”
For once, Jaskier didn’t argue, just nodding and starting rolling up their bedrolls. Geralt pulled his boots on and left the tent, silver sword still in hand. The forest outside was deceptively peaceful, as it had been earlier, and Roach seemed unbothered. He started getting the packs together one-handed, keeping half of his senses on the presence just outside their camp. It rankled, that he could neither hear nor see nor smell anything, just sensed that something was there and watching.
It didn’t move as Jaskier came out of the tent with their things. He took over the packs from Geralt and quickly repacked everything, then started breaking down the tent.
That’s apparently when the presence realized that they were in fact leaving, because Geralt could sense it moving closer. Jaskier apparently sensed it too, as his hands started shaking and he fumbled the tent stakes. “Keep packing,” Geralt hissed as he moved between Jaskier and the presence. “We need to go.”
Jaskier took a deep breath and nodded, forcing himself to keep going.
The presence didn’t move quickly, like it was walking towards the camp. It didn’t seem to like the silver, trying to go around Geralt to get to Roach and Jaskier. He kept between it and them, not sure if he should attack and try to dispel it or if it would just take advantage of the opening to get around him to his companions. He hated not knowing how a creature would behave, and the encompassing terror that seemed to follow the presence had gotten stronger as it got closer, until his sword was clearly shaking in his hand.
He was not a Witcher for nothing, though, and he kept between the creature and his companions until he heard Jaskier cinch the saddle on Roach. “Get on, but stay low,” Geralt said. “We need to move quickly.”
The presence chose that moment to rush at him, and he swung his sword in its direction. There was a shriek and the sense of it faded for the moment. This was their best shot. “Go!”
He followed Roach as Jaskier urged her back the way they had come. The sense of the presence had returned, and it was following them at a much faster pace than before. Geralt tried to stay at the back to dispel the presence, but Jaskier was hampered by his human eyesight and was faltering on the way back to the road. Geralt ran up in front and took ahold of Roach’s bridle and guidance her along their own trail, but he could sense the presence gaining on them.
“Geralt,” Jaskier called. “It’s right behind us.”
Geralt ignored him – just a little further, he could see where the forest opened up.
They burst out of the forest and back onto the road. Geralt immediately let go of Roach’s bridle and swung around, sword at the ready, but the presence was gone.
After a few moments, Jaskier slid down from Roach, leaning against her flank. “Do you think it’s gone?” he asked.
Geralt strained his senses, but he didn’t feel it anymore. “Perhaps,” he said. “It might not have been able to leave the forest.”
“Oh good,” Jaskier said. “I’m not sure my heart could take more of that.” He patted Geralt’s shoulder. “You’re very gallant with the sword and all, but next time let’s listen to my feelings about things in the camp.”
Geralt thought about protested, but just grunted in agreement. He slid his sword back into his sheath and patted Roach’s nose – she was looking very confused at all the fuss. “Let’s keep moving,” he said.
“I’m good with that,” Jaskier said. “I don’t think I could sleep another wink tonight anyway, not with that thing still out there.”
They started making their way down the road. As they turned the bend, Geralt sensed the presence watching them from where they had exited the forest, but it didn’t seem to be following. Jaskier looked back once as well, but kept up his determined chatter about how he was never sleeping in the woods again, so Geralt assumed that all was well.