Jeremy adjusted the saddle bags on his horse quickly, flicking his eyes left and right to be sure he hadn't been followed. He was going to have to be quick if he would make it to the river before sundown. The words on the letter he received that morning still hung fresh in his mind. A shiver ran down his spine, shaking him to the core. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, praying for his nerves to calm. Putting one foot in the sturrup, he moved to mount when suddenly he felt cold metal poke into his back between his ribs.

"Thought you could sneak off, huh?" sneered a raspy voice.

Jeremy's mouth dried at once, and with shaking hands he let go of the saddle, putting his raised foot back down on the dirt.

"I was just…" Jeremy began, turning to face his accuser.

"You were just," mocked the raspy man's partner, "Don't lie. He knew you would try to run before he could collect. Which is why we are here."

The two dirty men smirked at the look of terror on Jeremy's face. He couldn't stop trembling and found the knot in his throat almost impossible to speak around. He knew he had to, though, it was his only chance.

"Please...can't we work something out? I'll give you whatever you want."

The raspy man laughed, baring a set of brown cracked teeth, "You sound like 'im, only, I actually can expect 'im to keep his promise."

His partner smirked, nodding his head in agreement.

Jeremy could feel his eyes brimming with tears. "You've made a deal with the devil. He'll trick you like he tricked me. Please let me go. I beg of you!"

"Rules are rules, Jeremy," the partner explained casually, "It's time to pay up."

Jeremy looked around frantically. At the edge of town, he was not within a distance that screaming for help would do any good, but scream he would. Opening his mouth, his eyes caught sight of a pale figure on a horse, creeping along from the direction of the river.

The rider kept his head down, eyes hidden below a large black hat. His duster billowed along the sides of his horse, a beautiful chestnut taking long proud strides. The pair of villains didn't notice the rider, for despite the boisterous gate of his steed, he traveled silently. Only when he was nearly upon the scene did he slowly lift his head.

Jeremy's call for help was snuffed out the moment he locked eyes with the stranger. The man under the hat had a ghastly visage. The first thing to draw Jeremy's attention was the rider's light and haunting eyes. They were almost hidden under a mop of shaggy hair white as a mountain cap. The hair curled under the brim of the hat, stopping just below the man's ears. From beneath the fringe to the end of his cheek, crossing over his eye was a ragged scar, completing the impression that this man was a harbinger of death. His eyes almost seemed to glow in the shade of his hat, and did not dim as his eyes narrowed.

Jeremy was certain this man would kill him before the pair had their chance, or perhaps Jeremy was already dead, and this pale rider was the reaper come to take him home.

"What's going on here?" the stranger asked in a low husky voice.

The assassins were taken aback by this man, but his menacing appearance didn't seem to daunt the men from completing their task.

"Piss off, nobody, this isn't your business!" the raspy man retorted. His partner didn't look as confident.

"I said," began the stranger, "What is going on here?"

Jeremy could see a belt along the stranger's waist, flanked by two guns. The man's hand rested on the gun on his left. His right hand remained on the reins.

If he's got two guns, he better use them. There's two of them!

"And I said," the raspy man began, raising his gun to point at the stranger.

Before he could finish, his partner drew his gun and fired at Jeremy.

The blast struck his shoulder, sending him flying to the side. As his feet left the ground, a second gunshot rang through the air, and a third accompanied the thud of Jeremy's body hitting the ground. The wind was knocked from Jeremy's body and he felt the pain in his arm overwhelm him. His vision swirled before his eyes.

Suddenly, the pale rider came into view. He was off his horse and crouching down to look into Jeremy's face.

"The bullet passed though your upper arm and is in your chest. You'll need a surgeon to take it out. Is there a surgeon in your town?"

Jeremy blinked confusedly.

"Am I dead?"

"You will be if we don't get you to town. Give me your arm, stand up."

Jeremy couldn't feel his body, but his perspective was suddenly righted and he floated toward the horses, being half carried by the stranger. It was then Jeremy could see the two would-be killers on the ground, blood pooling from under the heads. The stranger pulled Jeremy onto his horse and grabbed the reins of Jeremy's horse before hopping on behind Jeremy.

With a click of his tongue, the stranger signaled his horse and they were off, racing back towards the town Jeremy had hoped to escape. The townsfolk that normally paid Jeremy no mind took in the pair trotting into the square. A few let out startled gasps, but Jeremy was unsure if it was due to the threat of death clinging to him, or the air of death about the man holding him upright in the saddle. A broad woman carrying a sack from the general store let out a yelp at the sudden appearance of the rider and dropped her bag, making no motion to pick it back up again.

"Surgeon," the stranger barked, "Which way?"

The woman's maw remained open, leering at the pair in shock and curiosity.

"Which way?"

"Dr. Godefroy," the woman replied, coming to her senses and pointing, "Next to the jail."

The stranger raced off, following the direction of the woman's plump digit. The jail didn't take long to find. The "town" of Gullet was much more akin to a row of hen houses than a bustling metropolis. No more than a dozen buildings made up the main street, and the only readily identifiable structures were a church, a crumbling jailhouse, and a saloon blazoned with the words "The Foxy Den" in large red letters. The town, as the stranger came to realize, was aptly named, for the buildings sat in the shadow of a gorge. High above the peak of the church stood the stark cliffside, looming down over the town. On the other side of the main street, the high curtain of rock parted into a slim pathway that led deeper into the mountains. Indeed, it was as if the town was being swallowed into the chasm brick by brick. By the looks of the jailhouse, the mountain had nearly finished its meal.

The stranger leapt from his horse and in a swift maneuver, pulled Jeremy down gently to the ground. Jeremy's legs buckled, but the stranger was strong, holding him upright proved no challenge. Together they walked to the little shack of a building next to the jailhouse. On the other side of the gloomy structure stood the gallows. The wooden structure looked pristine.

Clearly, thought the stranger with a shake of his head, they have their priorities in order.

Bursting through the door, the pair were greeted by the curious glance of a man standing by a desk. Medical supplies were laid out across a canvas on the desk and the man had an apron tied around his waist. He looked unsurprised at their sudden intrusion-contrarily, he appeared to have expected them.

"Jeremy," the doctor replied softly, "Unfortunate to see you like this."

The man was tall and slender, his grey-black hair was slicked behind his ears and met a striking pair of mutton chops. His eyes were dark but kind, and he moved toward Jeremy with a gentleness that was rare to find in this part of the world anymore. His slender fingers moved over Jeremy's arm and chest, feeling out the injuries of the man. The doctor's eyes narrowed in concentration, and his brow furrowed as he grew more concerned.

"A bullet is lodged between his second and third ribs," he commented, "I can't tell if the lungs have been brutalised or not. If the bullet hadn't passed through your arm, you'd be dead already."

For now, the doctor ignored the stranger and got to work, laying Jeremy down on a long wooden table draped with a sheet, washed many times, but still stained with the losses of patients before. The stranger stood by the desk, leaning silently again the edge and folding his arms across his chest patiently.

The doctor worked quietly and calmly, moving with a fluidity and rhythm of a dancer. His tools worked quickly but tenderly, and in a matter of minutes, the bullet was pulled from the wound and landed with a clatter in a jar at the foot of the table. The stranger stood up and walked over to the doctor. Despite the man's calm, the stranger could tell the doctor believed himself to be defeated.

As if answering the question, the doctor lifted up Jeremy's hand which was beginning to turn bluish along the fingertips. "Can you hear it?" the doctor asked. Jeremy had lost consciousness during the operation and now his breathing was ragged and laboured. Needing to compensate, the sleeping man drew in a deep breath and a gurgling echoed from behind his teeth.

"His lungs," the stranger replied.

Nodding, the doctor sighed, "I can maybe drain some of the fluid, but he's already losing too much oxygen. Even with the drained lung, I don't know if there was shock damage to his heart or other lung. His best case scenario at this point is a few days struggling to breathe. He may come to, but for his sake I hope not. The end won't be pretty. I fear at this point, whatever bastard shot the poor man would have done him a better favor having completed his task."

The stranger nodded, hooking his thumbs into his belt. The doctor's eyes were drawn to the belt and took in the buckle in the middle. The head of a wolf was baring his teeth from the stranger's midriff.

"Can you make it quick?" the stranger asked.

The doctor's eyes snapped up to the stranger's, and it was the first time that the doctor took in the man's appearance. The question had been blunt and his voice was cold, but the doctor could see genuine concern in the pale eyes of the stranger. A pair of guns, a belt of bullets slung over the shoulder and chest, and a hat black as night, under which shone cat-like piercing eyes.

Yes, thought the doctor, costume of a killer, a layered man beneath; how interesting.

"Yes," the doctor replied aloud, "A mix of chemicals on a rag before his nose and mouth should do the trick. He'll drift off."

The stranger nodded, crossing his arms again.

The doctor turned back to his patient, mixing up the concoction and applying it to the rag. He let out a sigh and placed the rag on Jeremy's face. Though he didn't hear him, the doctor could feel the stranger leave his office.

Outside, the stranger dug into Jeremy's saddle bags, rummaging around for anything that might clue him in to the situation. Deep in the second bag was a crumpled paper. The stranger pulled it open. It contained only one sentence:

Dues need to be repaid-and he will come for you.

The stranger sighed and ripped up the paper, letting the pieces fall to the ground.

"When you asked me to put him out of his misery," a voice behind him began, "I thought perhaps he was a friend of yours. Did you know Jeremy well?"

The stranger turned around and saw the doctor pulling the door shut behind him. He was no longer wearing the apron, and instead had shrugged on a jacket, buttoning it up over his waistcoat.

"No," the stranger replied, "I just met him at the edge of town."

"Mm," the doctor hummed, "You rode like death itself was nipping at your heels."

"For him it was."

"Mm," the doctor replied again, nodding.

Slowly he strode up to the stranger and extended a long bony hand.

"Welcome to Gullet," he replied dryly.

The stranger shook his hand, letting out a little huff of a laugh, "Indeed."

"I didn't catch your name."

"Geralt," the stranger replied, "I appreciate what you did, Dr. Godefroy."

The doctor smiled warmly, "Please, call me Regis. Only those of unpleasant company I insist to call me Dr. Godefroy."

Geralt let out a snort, "I don't often get assumed for pleasant company, and a woman back thataway called you Godefroy."

"I see. Broad shorter woman? Small child in tow?"

"Broad short woman yes, but not with child."

Regis nodded thoughtfully. "Must have left Jemima a moment's peace, I see. That woman is Mrs. Conesta. Vile woman, really."

He shook his head as if deciding something, "At any rate, we shall have to decide what sort of company you might be. Have you any place to stay?"

"I figured I would just camp at the edge of town."

"Nonsense, we can find you accomodations."

Geralt raised a hand to wave off the offer, but was interrupted by the doctor.

"I insist," Regis added, stepping closer.

Geralt opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, contemplated, then narrowed his eyes.

"Why the sudden interest in helping?"

"Well," Regis began with a friendly smile, "You're new to town. You don't know how this town operates."

"And?"

"And…" Regis's smile faded as he slipped his hands into his pockets, "We've not had an unnatural death in over a year in this town. It just so happens to occur when you arrive."

"I didn't kill Jeremy."

"Then I assume there are bodies that need recovering. I say again-there has been no unnatural deaths in a year. I don't believe you did want Jeremy dead, but I also surmise whatever he was killed for had to do with you."

Geralt said nothing.

Regis quirked a brow.

"I'm looking for someone," Geralt confessed.

"Who?"

"I can't tell you. I don't want anyone else getting involved."

Regis huffed before pointing to Geralt's waist. "I assume those twin pistols aren't for show. Your business may be your own, but the moment you start dispatching souls in this town, the bodies left behind become my business."

"I don't just go around shooting people."

"Ah, a bounty hunter with morals."

"Something like that."

Regis sighed glumly and slung a satchel over his shoulder, resting a hand on the strap across his chest. He was weighing his options, and testing Geralt.

"Fine. I won't ask who it is you're after, but I want to help. I'd prefer the fewest casualties. Not many people come to this town. We're limited in number as it is."

Geralt wanted to protest, but the doctor was probably right. This man seemed to know a lot about the residents. He could prove useful.

"Who is the sheriff in this town?"

Regis turned up his nose, "His name is Reuven. If you had it in mind to enlist his help, you'd be wasting your time. He doesn't take kindly to newcomers, he detests bounty hunters, and he likes to control all that goes on in this town."

"I'll keep that in mind. No, I hadn't planned for his help, just wanted to know how big of a thorn he'll be in my side."

"Are you familiar with the Honey Locust tree?"

"That big?" Geralt huffed before turning to face the edge of the town, back the way he had come in. "Three hundred yards that way, you'll find a sickly tree..."

"I assume the tree is not what I will be meant to focus on."

"Two men are lying under that tree."

"I'm very happy for the both of them."

"Dead."

"I assumed as much."

Geralt untied the reins of Jeremy's horse from the post and handed them to Regis.

"Will Sheriff Reuven ask questions about them?"

"Not if he doesn't know about them."

Geralt nodded slowly, still unsure about trusting this man. And yet, something almost unquestioningly compelled him to.

"Again…" Geralt began, looking into the tall doctor's dark, almost black eyes. "Why do you want to help me?"

Regis bit his lip, gripping the strap of his satchel absentmindedly. He was deciding whether or not to risk saying something, and caution appeared to be losing out.

"Because," Regis replied softly, a warning, "I don't think you have any idea what you are getting yourself into."