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    Summary

    “Bard wandered right through the next town over,” a farmer says, scratching a patchy beard. "You know what folk are like over there. They don’t particularly like Witchers. Hate them, in fact.”

    Geralt turns his head. The group hasn’t seen him. He made sure to pick a booth in the darkest and furthest corner in the tavern, content to just drink until the sun went down; and then he could get some sleep.

    But now, ale and sleep are the last things on his mind.

    “They’ve been trying to get their hands on a Witcher for years,” another farmer joins in, picking at some leftover food on his plate.

    The first man shrugs, lifting his tankard to his mouth. “If you can’t go about killing an actual Witcher, do the next best thing: kill it’s bed-warmer.”

    ---

    A prompt-fill of sorts for g-e-r-a-s-k-i-e-r on tumblr - thank you for the prompt and wonderful gif set used x

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