章 119: Bonds and Whispers
When Wayne accepted Toruviel's invitation and arrived at the camp to find Geralt, he encountered a surprising scene. The famed White Wolf stood amidst a group of young non-humans, a cheerful grin plastered across his face. Opposite him, the big-nosed dwarf, Horton Chivay, reluctantly surrendered his coin pouch, frustration etched on his features. Apparently, Geralt's year of honing his Gwent skills in the Northern Kingdoms, coupled with some rare cards he'd cheekily borrowed from Wayne, had allowed him to exact sweet revenge and finally defeat Horton, his first Gwent mentor. The surrounding onlookers, fellow Gwent enthusiasts, erupted in cheers for Geralt's victory, captivated by the thrilling duel.
Observing the lively atmosphere, Wayne opted not to intrude. He figured spending time with the beautiful Toruviel would be a more enjoyable way to spend the evening. Introverted by nature, Wayne wasn't exactly shy, but he did prefer the company of those he already knew. It had been the same back in Vizima. He only accepted contracts introduced by acquaintances or those that felt personally significant.
Dusk was settling when Wayne found Toruviel again. She was in her room, engrossed in a book by the soft glow of an oil lamp. Surprised by his return, she set down the book, offered him a stool, poured him another cup of fragrant flower tea, and inquired about his day.
"Is there anything else I can help you with, Wayne?" Wayne shifted in his chair, scratching his cheek with a hint of awkwardness. "The camp's bustling with new faces, and I hardly know any of them. Honestly, your company is the only comfortable plave I find here."
Toruviel's surprise was evident. Did she misinterpret his words? A rare, shy smile touched her usually serious features. Rising, she retrieved a metal pitcher from her bedside table. "Care to try more of my secret cider, Wayne? Picked these apples myself from the White Orchard Valley. Tastes even better than last time."
"Actually," Wayne began, "after our conversation a while back, things have been on my mind. I had a lot I wanted to discuss with you again." He couldn't shake the feeling that a seductive undercurrent flowed beneath Toruviel's words whenever she spoke. He was no longer a novice witcher and understood the implications. After a moment's deliberation, he decided not to decline.
Toruviel, slender and graceful as a panther, exuded an undeniable elven allure that few men could resist. He countered by producing his own magical flask, shaking it playfully at her. "I happen to have some exquisite Toussaint red wine here. How about we take our time, enjoy the drinks, and talk?"
"Perfect," Toruviel chuckled, discarding the fur coat she wore, revealing pale skin and a white silk blouse. With a playful glint in her eyes, she poured Wayne a glass of her secret cider, then took his flask and filled a glass for herself with the ruby-red wine. A hint of a blush rose on her cheeks as she spoke.
Emerging from Toruviel's room at midday the next day, Wayne found the elf still fast asleep. He himself had traded his heavy witcher gear for a light, elegant set of satin clothes. As he ventured out to find Geralt, a shift in the camp's atmosphere towards him was undeniable. Most non-humans seemed friendlier, readily offering greetings and smiles. However, some of the younger elves displayed obvious hostility.
He located Geralt, the famed White Wolf, tending to a curious assortment of skewered mushrooms: various sizes, colors, and stripes, roasting over a fire. Their enticing aroma filled the air. This was a witcher's delicacy - roasted poisonous mushrooms. Geralt, with his full tolerance to toxins, could relish these dangerous forest treats. They required no seasoning; simply grilled or glazed with honey, they became a delectable meal.
As Wayne approached, Geralt whistled nonchalantly, offering a skewer of roasted mushrooms. "Rough night, was it?" he teased with a smirk. "Slept in a tent, and let's just say your voices carried."
Wayne took a bite without hesitation. The juicy, tender mushroom burst with flavor, needing no additional seasoning. He rolled his eyes, knowing Geralt's amusement. Despite their pleasurable night, Toruviel, mindful of potential consequences, kept things discreet. They fell asleep well before dawn, ensuring no unwanted noise.
Not to be outdone, Wayne mirrored Geralt's smirk. "Where's the little elf widow you befriended last time, White Wolf? No reunion this time?"
Geralt sighed, shaking his head. "Seems that she found a new company. So I didn't bother her. Besides, you didn't point me towards a guest tent, so I just sat by the fire all night."
A touch of embarrassment flushed Wayne's cheeks. He hadn't planned on staying overnight with Toruviel. Geralt didn't care about either. Sleeping by the fire was a breeze compared to some of the filth witcher contracts led him to. He grabbed another skewer of mushrooms, savoring the largest one. "Finished with your business? When do we ride out again? Feels like snow's just a fortnight away."
Wayne hesitated, keeping his visit to the sorceress under wraps. "I'll need another day or two. You could use the time to stock up on provisions in a nearby town. Once I'm done, we'll head straight back to Kaer Morhen."
Geralt clasped Wayne's shoulder. "You might be sharper than me in some ways, Wayne, but listen up. Power struggles are a witcher's nightmare. We have no backing, understand? It's a dangerous game."
Wayne nodded. While he understood Geralt, Vesemir, and the other witchers' perspective, his nature inclined him to be proactive, to shape his own destiny rather than passively wait for trouble to find him.
In the afternoon, Geralt rode to a nearby human city to stock up on provisions for the coming winter at Kaer Morhen. After all, everyone in the Wolf School will live in the castle for a month or two. If the supplies are not rich enough, although their survival will not be affected, life will definitely be quite miserable.
That evening, Toruviel reappeared. Despite their passionate night, she maintained a more reserved demeanor but with an undercurrent of trust. It seemed Wayne had earned her full confidence, perhaps even a hint of affection. She approached him, took his hand in hers, and led him towards a secluded room guarded by elite elven warriors, stationed about a hundred meters from the main camp. After dismissing the guards, she spoke softly, "There's a teleportation circle in this room. I'll accompany you. When activated, it will transport us hundreds of kilometers away, to the Valley of Flowers. That's where we'll meet Francesca."
"The esteemed sorceress has personally prepared a dinner in your honor. She's eager to hear your thoughts and have a proper conversation."
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