Wild Hunt First Appearance (Part 1)

Four days later. Hirundum. Fifteen versts away from Gors Velen.

Alan was sitting in the room on the second floor. It was dry, unlike the spring weather outside the window. It was warm again not in the slightest similar to the weather, that encompassed the lands around this small settlement.

All in all, the weather was bad.

He heard a knock at the door.

"You may enter."

"Ah.. sorry! I thought after you gave permission to enter, at least I won't see a naked body!" - protested Petunia. The harsh words didn't manage to stop her eyes from taking a glance or two at the young man.

"I have pants." - stated Alan, not understanding where she is getting at.

"Mom, mom! I ate a fly!" - sounded a resentful voice of a little girl on the verge of tears.

"Mom, mom! She ate a fly!" - laughed another voice with glee.

Two little girls entered his room like a hurricane and started running around. They were small as it is. Halflings were never tall, but the duo couldn't boast about height even among their kind.

"Cinia, Tangerinka! Don't disturb our customer!"

"Wow, look, there are scars! Do they look like that up close? Our daddy doesn't have scars." - one of the girls, the one that was always mischievous and cheerful, ran up to Alan and touched his muscles with a little hand. There was only curiosity in her pure gaze.

"Look, look, Cinia, on the back too! Oh oh, those three lines. Did it hurt?" - Tangetinka traced three parallel lines left many years ago by a drowner.

"No." - answered Alan simply.

Another girl approached him shyly and silently looked for a moment.

"And that bite on the arm. Wow... who did it? Who did it? Hey, hey, tell me, mmm!"

"Ghoul."

"Wow!" - girl's eyes shone with splendor. - "I once saw a knight, he didn't have scars. He didn't fight monsters? Then why do we need to have knights?"

"You don't need knights."

"Ah... look, sis. So long! How can it be so big?" - Tangerinka was like a ray of warm sunshine, studying his scars, not noticing her mother's fuming eyes.

Even Petunia marveled at how a man can survive such a grievous wound.

"You two! Go to bed!" - she snapped out of it and admonished the kids. - "Don't disturb the rest of our customers."

"We don't disturb, right? Right?" - Tangerinka made a pitiful face. Petunia tried to warn Alan not to say anything.

"You don't." - he muttered under the coercion of little cute doll.

Petunia sighed.

"Yay! Then let's play! I want to play!" - the girl happily jumped around like a little deer.

"I warned you, young witcher. You did it yourself." - said Petunia with a remorseful gaze, that was full of laughter.

Alan sighed.

"Miss Petunia, is there something you want to tell me?"

"Ah, the food is ready and master Geralt is waiting downstairs."

Alan gave a look at the duo who sat near him on the bed with a tinge of helplessness.

"So he is back already? The work is done, I presume."

"Yes, he brought those gruesome heads at our doorstep, can you imagine?" - Petunia frowned with disgust.

"I can." - stated Alan bluntly. That was so much like Geralt.

"Still it is a good thing those monsters are dead and master Geralt looks fine too. I was worried for nothing." - Petunia was a bright lady, an exemplary mother, and a perfect host. A rare woman in this world.

Alan nodded, helped Petunia to escort two little girls to bed, and went downstairs. The inn was one of the best he had seen in years of his travels. Hofmeiers took great care of their own home. You can't expect less from a thrifty family of halflings.

Geralt turned to the noise. He saw a young man coming down on the stairs and two girls running to their rooms. His gaze followed the girls and became distant.

"You will see her soon, Geralt." - said Alan and sat across. The bench didn't even creak.

"You always talk like you know beforehand. And it always comes true. By the way, Jaskier is here."

"Oh, really now!" - Alan smiled. Geralt twitched. A young boy at the nearby table nearly cried from fear. Cat from the corner hissed, meowed pitifully, and ran to the kitchen.

"He will soon perform for everyone."

"His survival depends on his performances, after all." - Alan shrugged with a bland look. It was unknown about what kind of survival he was talking about. - "Let us all hope that his repertoire won't include some nonexistent juice specifics of my private life."

Geralt sighed and hid a slight smile in the mug of beer.

"Alan, this inn and Hofmeiers are positively a rare find." - Geralt sighed again, but this time with pleasing notes. - "They know how to brew beer."

"Really? Should I try?" - contemplated the young witcher.

"No." - said Geralt strictly with no hesitation. - "I dislike ruins. More so if I have to sleep in one."

"It can't be that bad."

The old man gave him a fierce look of someone ready to fight to the death. His determination was unshakable, his will as hard as iron.

"Anyway, how have you been?" - Alan took a plate of grilled meat and found it to his liking.

"Not much. Traveled here and there, earned some money on monsters. You know, I even accepted to escort merchant ship on Pontar to provoke Rience, but ended up fighting someone else."

"Temerian secret service?"

"I think they were just dressed like ones. Unfit uniform, no poise, and manners were similar to the members of Novigrad gangs. They looked like thugs to me."

"Yeah, Geralt, they were ordered to be like that to hide the trail. And I heard you killed all of them on the boat. That's not like you."

"They crossed the line. The leader threatened me with a kid. A boy about six has a father and a mother. He pestered me all the way. Noisy kid."

"Alive?"

"The boy? Yes. Others?" - Geralt shrugged apathetically.

"Whatever. You better not come across any Temerian soldiers for now. Especially when they are a lot."

"Another beer, master Geralt. You, Alan?"

"I'm good."

"The weather will be bad tonight. Such a powerful storm is very rare."

"Storm?" - Alan suddenly stood up and gripped his sword. The one that feasted on the blood of monsters.

"No need to go. Better stay inside. Petunia, you tell everyone to lock the windows."

"What is it?"

"Wild Hunt. The ghosts of the sky. Just stay inside." - said Geralt with a grim tone and turned to Alan. - "There is no need. No witcher ever could understand them. They are immortal. Just stay inside."

"They are not ghosts, Geralt. They never were." - said Alan and fixed the sword on his back. - "But soon some of them will be."

Geralt looked at the young man. His serious eyes flashed with killing intent and turquoise light. He looked at the wall but, somehow, Geralt was sure that what he looked at was somewhere else. As if his mysterious purple eyes that burned with power can penetrate space and time itself.

White Wolf awoke from slumber and drank the pint of beer in one gulp. He stood up, silently fastening swords on his back.

They stepped outside. The wind was howling like a living beast. A thunderous storm was raging in the distance.

Lightning struck Tor Lara, the Seagull Tower.

Numerous battlements across its structure turned red. They shone like it engulfed the tower in flames of war from within, staying calm on the inside. It was beautiful, yet the name and the magic of it caused Alan to feel approaching winter.

Winter of slaughter and death, of red snow, and cries for help.

"Thanedd... Tor Lara..." - he muttered. - "I don't like it already. Sparky!"

"Not bad. Can you teach me the trick?" - said Geralt seeing a black stallion appearing from the stables.

"Telepathy. Can you learn the trick?"

"No." - stated Geralt and whistled. - "Whistle with fingers. Can you learn the trick?"

Alan rolled his eyes at the old man. It was one of the talks back in Kaer Morhen. No matter what they did and how they tried to teach him, Alan couldn't make a good whistle with his mouth. It was so damn unnatural, especially with Eternal Mind in play.

He hopped on the horse and sped into the night.

Seeing him so restless, Geralt knew that the enemy is fierce. And that someone close to him is in danger.

Lightning and thunder spread across the sky. A wail of ghosts came on the fierce wind.

The night was coming, the night of Wild Hunt, the night of Soul Reaping.