Vesemir can deal with the boys lapsing back into their old habits later. Or maybe he won't, they're grown men now and what can he do? In any case, they all have bigger problems at the moment. Doesn't stop him from frowning about it.
Eskel's on the floor when they get to Geralt's room, his bandages soaked with that black stuff. He's shuddering and whimpering.
"Vesemir..." He gasps, reaching for his father figure. "What's happening?"
"I don't know, boy, but I don't like the look of it." The old witcher steps into the room, drawing the huge silver hunting knife as he does so. Eskel doesn't fight as the old man lays it against his neck.
"I'm just going to look. This is a precaution, nothing more." Vesemir promises.
"If there's so much as a twig stickin' out of me, cut my head off." Eskel pleads, eyes wide with fear.
Vesemir sits him forward, peels off the bandages. His frown deepens, but he doesn't do anything to Eskel. He reaches for the ruined sheet on the bed and swipes at the wound.
"I think...I think the wound is purging itself, somehow." He says, after a moment. He pulls a bottle of red Swallow from the bracer of potion bottles on his forearm, uncorks it with his teeth, and upends it onto the hole.
It begins to close, for the first time in weeks Vesemir can see real progress: pink, healthy skin pulling the hole closed.
"I don't know what's happening." The old witcher admits. "But it's good, I think." He tosses the knife onto Geralt's bed and just holds Eskel, something he has't done since the other man was a foundling of just four. But now he's comforting as much as restraining...just in case.
By the time things seem to settle down, the black scarring down Eskel's arm and up the side of his neck is gone, replaced by faint and entirely normal-looking scars. The hole in his back, added by the application of Swallow, looks like an ordinary wound, already scabbed over. Likely to be just another faint scar by next nightfall.
"Does it hurt?" Vesemir asks.
"No." Eskel breathes, his tone baffled but relieved. "Not anymore, not like it did."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2023-09-03 03:26 pm (UTC)Eskel's on the floor when they get to Geralt's room, his bandages soaked with that black stuff. He's shuddering and whimpering.
"Vesemir..." He gasps, reaching for his father figure. "What's happening?"
"I don't know, boy, but I don't like the look of it." The old witcher steps into the room, drawing the huge silver hunting knife as he does so. Eskel doesn't fight as the old man lays it against his neck.
"I'm just going to look. This is a precaution, nothing more." Vesemir promises.
"If there's so much as a twig stickin' out of me, cut my head off." Eskel pleads, eyes wide with fear.
Vesemir sits him forward, peels off the bandages. His frown deepens, but he doesn't do anything to Eskel. He reaches for the ruined sheet on the bed and swipes at the wound.
"I think...I think the wound is purging itself, somehow." He says, after a moment. He pulls a bottle of red Swallow from the bracer of potion bottles on his forearm, uncorks it with his teeth, and upends it onto the hole.
It begins to close, for the first time in weeks Vesemir can see real progress: pink, healthy skin pulling the hole closed.
"I don't know what's happening." The old witcher admits. "But it's good, I think." He tosses the knife onto Geralt's bed and just holds Eskel, something he has't done since the other man was a foundling of just four. But now he's comforting as much as restraining...just in case.
By the time things seem to settle down, the black scarring down Eskel's arm and up the side of his neck is gone, replaced by faint and entirely normal-looking scars. The hole in his back, added by the application of Swallow, looks like an ordinary wound, already scabbed over. Likely to be just another faint scar by next nightfall.
"Does it hurt?" Vesemir asks.
"No." Eskel breathes, his tone baffled but relieved. "Not anymore, not like it did."