Trail Geralt: A Fictional Narrative

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It was just upon the edge of that trail Geralt followed, like a blood hound seeking out a fleeing fox as he continued to dash through the underbrush, still unaware of the fact that the guards behind him might have peeled back and gave up the chase; but he couldn 't be too reckless, he knew that he was vastly outnumbered and regardless of how skilled a fighter he was, he knew that there was simply a limit to how many he could take down before he himself was put down in turn. Heavy footfalls thumped dully against the loamy soil of the underbrush, the snap and crunch of any twigs beneath his boots muffled against moss and spongy earth, and while he was not too careful about leaving a trail - figuring that these mer were just as capable as any elf…show more content…
Okeanus was up ahead, something in his gut told him. A quiet breath was hissed as he shifted his course ever so slightly, now making a b-line straight towards the origin of the noise, and it was only now that his hand moved backwards over one shoulder to grasp the handle of his silver sword, unsheathing it as the metal sang into the night air, eager for blood. He was ready and prepared to fight should the elf find himself in trouble, and soon enough the darkly dressed Witcher came barreling through the undergrowth with a snap and rustle of fern leaves that were forced to shift out of his way, coming to an almost immediate halt when he noted the kneeling figure of the elf at the foot of one tree, approaching his side and doing a complete three-sixty, ensuring there were no potential enemies hiding within the surrounding woods that would lunge for his back the moment he turned to the royal. "Okeanus." Came Geralt 's gruff voice, sounding slightly winded from the sheer amount of running he had done, his chest heaving in great bouts that were sucked in through his nostrils. "Are you all right?" When he saw that there was nothing, even with his Witcher senses, the sword was eventually re-sheathed back into the sheath on his back, before eventually turned and bent over slightly, offering one gloved hand out to the mer in an offer to get him back on his feet again. "What
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