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The Witcher truly has an uncanny way of making him feel unwanted, he has to grudgingly admit that. And without saying a single word. Just gloomy glares, the occasional hostile grunt, the demonstrative sitting as far away from him as possible at the campfire or the spurring of his horse whenever he rides too close to him. Too close meaning within viewing distance. Not that he can blame Geralt, he would definitely not want himself anywhere near him if he was him. Shit, does this even make sense?
Does anything make sense?
Somehow it is becoming more and more difficult to decide what is good and what evil, what is truth and what lie, what is reality and what is nightmare. It was so easy before. The White Flame was his truth, his god, the only thing that really counted. Now not so much. Maybe he is going crazy. Perhaps he already is. No, not perhaps. Following the Witcher and his friends, asking them to let him join their company was totally insane after everything he has done. Even more insane than seeking out the Princess on Thanedd full well knowing that she hated - no, hates - him and was thirsting for his blood. More demented than taking on five elven warriors on horseback all on his own.
Against all odds and much to his own surprise, he has so far survived all those follies of his. Maybe not even death wants him?
Well, he can live with that, Cahir suspects.
