Lone Wolf

Summary: Witchers ride from town to town, looking for creatures to kill for coin. Witchers ride alone. Or, rather, Witchers are supposed to. Not intended as Geraskier, but you could probably read it that way if you like

Rating: M for violence, prostitution references, and oblique references to sex, one mention of sexual violence in passing – canon typical at worst in all these regards

Proofread: by MrMashyman

Prologue: The cat and the wolf

The first sign was sound. Galloping hooves from ahead, coming closer. Geralt touched his heel to Roach's left flank. She moved out of the middle of the road, but kept walking. The hooves grew closer. Only one horse, a stride length not that different to Roach's. The wind was behind him, so there was no scent yet. Then there was a horse. A big dapple beast galloping up the hill, its rider hooded and cloaked. Geralt did not stare. He kept to the side of the road, kept his speed the same, he did nothing to be read as a threat. The horse passed him and Roach before he heard the horse pull up, scattering stones.

He looked back. The rider was wheeling the horse and coming back down the hill towards him. He wheeled Roach. He had no desire to be hit from behind. He put a hand to his steel.

"Witcher."

"I will not start a fight with you, but I will end one."

"Witcher, I mean you no harm." The voice was high for a man, but low for a woman, and the rider's clothing hid their figure. "Will you not share a fire with me for the evening?"

Those were words that seldom went together. Geralt felt his hackles stand up. "What do you want from me?"

"Only your words and your company, Witcher. I offer you the bond of hospitality. "

He did not take his hand off the hilt of his sword. "Show me your face." The other rider hesitated. Their clothing was black, from hood to boots, Geralt could see leather pauldrons under the cloth, and bracers underneath long gloves, but no insignia. No medals, no marks, no kingdom's stamp on the armour. Whoever this was, they did not want to be known. "You say you want a Witcher for his company, you offer the bond of hospitality, but you cannot have a hearth here."

"You may share my food and my fire."

"Show me your face." The rider hesitated again, then took one hand from the horse's reins and took down the hood. Another pair of yellow eyes stared back in to Geralt's, but from under a brow that could only belong to a woman.

"Cat." He said softly. Suddenly all made sense. Little bound Witchers now, but it was only good sense to trade news and warnings when they did meet. The Cats had tried to train women, a few had made it, but as Witchers differ from mortal men, she-Witchers differ from mortal women. He'd never met one before.

"Wolf." She replied. "Will you talk now?"

Geralt took his hand off his sword. "Where's your medallion?"

"And being a Wolf, you must wear it always." She put a hand under her clothing and pulled a medallion out. It looked genuine to Geralt.

"Being a Cat, you hide it."

She stared at him a moment. "Will you share my fire or not?"

Geralt looked up. The sky was starting to darken, he could probably make Mariboe tonight if he pushed Roach hard, but he was in no hurry. And, cat or not, he saw other Witchers rarely enough that this one probably was worth listening to.

.

Geralt started setting up camp, a little way down from the road, while the cat went hunting. He'd watered both horses and picketed them to graze, and had a fire going by the time he heard her coming back. He couldn't stop himself reaching for his sword before he had clear sight of her. Then she emerged from the brush, a headless pheasant dangling from one hand. She held it, and her empty hand, up as their eyes met.

"Wary, aren't you?"

"Says one who hides her mark and her eyes."

"Wouldn't it just make your life easier sometimes?" Geralt didn't reply. Those who knew enough about Witchers would treat this woman with more suspicion than they did him. The Code meant nothing to Cats. "You're Geralt of Rivia, aren't you?"

"And you are?"

"Lyuba of Gulera. You're earning quite a name for yourself."

"Not by choice."

"I've heard men singing about you fighting elves as far south as Cintra."

"The song is mostly horse shit."

"You seem to be popular as a source of stories. There was a little man with a lute asking after you a town or two South of here." Lyuba drove the stick Geralt handed her through the bird. "I punched him."

"He probably deserved it."

.

They sat down on opposite sides of the fire, both of their swords still in reach.

"So, where are you bound, Geralt of Rivia? Are you bound for a hunt or returning from one?"

"Returning. I was in Redania for a Nightwraith."

"It's been a while since I fought one of those." Geralt didn't ask how long it had been since this woman had used her silver at all. "And now?"

"Who knows? I wander until I hear of someone in search of a Witcher. You?"

"I'm for Novigrad and a Selkimore."

"They know what it is?"

"Well, it sounds like a Selkimore." Geralt waited. "Thing in the water holeing boats and swallowing sailors whole." Something about her tone bothered Geralt. Whether it was actually a good idea to look for the lie… maybe not. "How many like us have you seen in the past year, would you say?"

That jarred. "One dead, and you."

"One dead?"

"A Wolf, I didn't know him."

"What killed him?"

"Striga."

"Is the Striga still-"

"No."

"Good. Did you kill it?"

"No, I lifted the curse."

"How do you lift a Striga's curse?"

"By keeping her out of her crypt until dawn." She said nothing, just looked at him with sudden respect. "You?"

She took a breath slowly. "I passed one with a Bear's mark, didn't get his name, a Manticore called Gerring of Kharkiv. I can't rule out passing others who didn't show their marks."

"Most of us don't try to hide what we are. The Code still means something to most of us, and it goes some way to protecting us. Most people with any power know I won't be hired as an assassin."

"Oh, don't lecture me, Butcher of Blaviken." Geralt looked up at her sharply. "Yes, I know about that. Wolves wedded to their precious Code, you still massacred men in the market, why is it worse to be paid for it?"

Geralt stood. "If that's what you think, you know nothing. If eight come at me with swords in broad daylight, I will defend myself, whatever a mage says about me afterwards." The Cat didn't flinch, but her right hand wasn't on her knee any more.

"Have I touched a nerve, Wolf?" Geralt just stared at her coldly. "Sit down, or leave the fire." Geralt didn't move. "Will you say that men are not often more monstrous than the things you are contracted to kill? Is a man who beats his wife so viciously that she miscarries any better than a Botchling?"

"And is it wife beaters you're contracted to kill?" Geralt could see her hand again, so he knelt down by the fire.

"I do what I must to survive." Geralt thought it probably wasn't in his interests to ask why, if other Witchers made a living of sorts hunting monsters, she couldn't.

.

Neither of them said anything until the bird was cooked, and that was only to say it was so, and share hard tack and Lyuba's portion of a dried southern fruit that Geralt didn't recognize.

"Have you potions to trade?" Lyuba asked when the bird was mostly bones. "I've White Honey, more than I'm likely to use."

Geralt grunted and went to his bag. There were things he had that he wasn't willing to trade away. "I have a Bindweed I can spare, and probably a Tawny Owl."

"Two for two?"

"Fair." Geralt took the two potions in one hand and held out the other for the White Honey. The cat played fair.

"Ingredients?"

.

Geralt didn't want to lie down to sleep six feet from the Cat. So he didn't. Once they were done to-and-fro-ing over bits of herb and bits of monster, the Cat lay down to sleep, Geralt knelt as though to meditate. She muttered something about never having the patience for that. He didn't reply. He waited nearly an hour until the fire was burning low and the Cat's breathing was slow and rhythmic. Then he lay down, hoping the she-Witcher had the honesty not to kill him if she woke first.

.

Geralt woke alive, at almost exactly the same time as the Cat. They struck camp in near silence. She turned North to kill whatever she was going to kill – probably not a Selkimore – he turned South to… who knew? There was never a plan.

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