Though it wasn’t the first time Geralt had been in a situation like this, it never got easier. Ghouls were not the most dangerous monsters, sometimes so craven and weak that even the mewling villagers could sometimes dispatch a pair of them when motivated enough. Or desperate enough. But ghouls were also plentiful and could, on rare occasions when food was plentiful and conditions were dark, form throngs in the blackest pits of the world.



It was this sort of mass that followed him and his bunny love now as they made their escape from what should have been a simple in and out hunt. The flight was desperate and all attempts at stealth had been lost as the shuffling and screeching cries of the monstrous forms behind them woke others. The added weight of bodies and the stench of their feast followed behind the Witcher and the sorceress, who impressed by being able to keep pace with him as they approached the mouth of the cave.



“We’re almost out!” Triss cried in a mixture of fear and delight, which he had to admit added a certain element of excitement when as the largest of the ghouls stopped just short of the entrance to the cave. “Keep running! I won’t spend our first anniversary trapped fighting a den of ghouls!”



“Roach!” he called in his gravely voice, then whistled sharply as his silver sword glinting in the moonlight. He dared a glance over his shoulder, and though he saw that they were not following, there was no need to tempt them further. “Once we’re on horseback, we’ll find a nice, quiet inn with a nice hot bath!”



-





Special Thanks to Kulkum for this story snippet.

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