The Divine Hunter

Weirdly enough, the moment Acamuthorm left the great hall, the children whispering in the courtyard quickly fell silent, as if they'd seen some terrifying beast. Before he said anything, they darted into their dorms like frightened cats. The hardy pinewood door slammed into the frame, and someone locked the door from within. A few kids looked outside the window, sneaking fearful glances.

Acamuthorm was standing beside Lebioda's statue, and he grinned. Miffed, he touched his face. He'd never been so feared by anyone before. Not on his journeys. Thinking this was just some mistake, he went to the window and whipped out a few pieces of pork jerkies from his pouch and said hello to the kids, but that only made them react more violently. The kids shrank into the darkness in fear and stopped breathing.

"What's going on?" Acamuthorm turned around, looking annoyed, and then his eyes shone. In the stables not far from him, a girl seemed to have been separated from her companions. She was crouching behind the head of a brown horse, unmoving, as if she were playing hide and seek with the witcher.

Unbeknownst to her, Wilt had sold her out. Its tail was spinning like rotor blades, telling the young witcher that a child was hiding around it. Acamuthorm walked on his tiptoes and stood beside the bucket filled with water. Through the side of the horse's neck, he observed the girl. She was about fifteen years old and slender, her clothes made of cotton. They were gray and patched up, and the girl was half a head shorter than Acamuthorm. She was about five-foot-five, and her hair was dry, golden, and short. A few braids decorated her head, and a green headband was tied around her forehead, giving her a hint of heroism.

Her features were beautiful, and her eyes were dark brown. Her nose was aquiline, and her lips were not big or small. She looked a bit like Falka, though this girl had a more prominent outline, felt more mature, and her skin wasn't as refined.

Falka is probably on Skellige, taking lessons from Yennefer and Roy.

The girl didn't notice the commotion in the courtyard. She was immersed in breathing near the horse's nose and patting its mane. A frustrated Wilt was snorting, shaking its head. If Roy hadn't trained it to sharply sense threats from any incoming entity, it'd have kicked this cheeky girl away a long time ago.

Acamuthorm cocked his eyebrow.

"Hey."

The girl looked up, and she tensed up. She gasped and quickly held her right hand before her chest, then she pulled out half a bat from her left boot. The girl curled up defensively.

Acamuthorm looked annoyed. Only people attacked by drowners make that kind of face. Am I that scary? "Calm down, girl. I'm not a bad guy. I won't hurt you." Acamuthorm straightened out his fringe, collar, and sleeves. He forced a smile and handed a piece of pork jerky to the girl. "I come in peace. I just want to make a friend."

The girl stared at the witcher, wide-eyed, for half a minute. She stared at his face and flat belly for a long time, as if she wanted to confirm something. Coldly, she asked, "Who are you?"

"Acamuthorm, a kind witcher. I've rid this temple of the monsters lurking within, free of charge. Just to help you poor children."

"Don't call me girl, witcher. I have a name. Angouleme. You talk a big talk, and you claim to have gotten rid of that howling monster?" The girl stared at the pork jerky the witcher was holding, her eyes filled with desire, but she licked her lips and held her desire down, then she forced herself to look away.

"From now on, you can sleep easy. This is my gift for the temple's children. Do you like it?"

Angouleme didn't answer. She remained crouched, and she puffed her cheeks like a squirrel, blowing at the horse's nose.

Ungrateful brat, Acamuthorm thought. He popped the jerky into his mouth and chewed loudly. "Ah, it's good. What are you doing to Wilt?"

Black words were written in a corner of the web, and this time, the witcher saw what it was. It was written in common speech.

Grayba.

Grayba the Black. Acamuthorm froze. Daisy had that tattoo on her back as well. Does it have a special meaning? "Angouleme, what's that pattern on your hand?"

As if electrified, the girl quickly pulled her sleeve down.

"You won't answer? Scared? Is someone threatening you? Tell me. I just want to help."

Angouleme put her hands on her hips and spat on the ground. Her eyes were gleaming with fury, and she roared in hysteria, "Help me? You think I'm a kid? We're barely acquainted. Why would you help me? I've seen too many people who never walk their talk. They're perverts. Depraved and mad. No one can be trusted." She was like a hurt little hedgehog. Fiercely, she said, "Leave. Don't try to lie to me."

Acamuthorm frowned. He couldn't understand why the girl was so sensitive and quick to anger. He stopped fooling around and said honestly, "Why? You think I like to butt into business that's not mine? It's all because you look like my friend. She has silver hair, and her eyes are green as lush spring. She's not like you, unlucky enough to be trapped in a freezing temple, starving and without any good clothes." He turned around and looked at the room the priestess was in.

"She used to attend a rural school in Novigrad. Everyone gets along well there, and we help one another. We can learn how to read and write, and we can play as much as we want. Falka's my good friend, and you look like her. If I ignore you, she'd grumble about it."

Acamuthorm smiled. "And according to witchers, the meeting between people is a sign of destiny. Destiny led me here, to solve your problem. If you can help me find the monster, I swear I'll free you and your friends from your predicament. No one can threaten or hurt you."

Angouleme took a deep breath. She tried to say something, but then her features stiffened up. She had a vacant look in her eyes, and her pupils dilated. "No. Daisy's right. We've seen no lynxes or spiders. They never came to this temple."

"Angouleme?" Acamuthorm stared at the girl behind the horse. She was blinking.

A long silence ensued.

"Stop hounding me. I told you, I don't know." The manic girl's chest was heaving, and her cheeks turned red. She tossed the doll over to the witcher's feet. "If you have so many questions, ask the doll," she roared.

Reluctantly, she smacked the horse's neck, saying goodbye to it, then she ran out of the stables, leaving rows of footprints behind. She banged on the dorm's doors.

Acamuthorm and Wilt exchanged a look. The witcher picked up the dirty ragdoll, musing. Behind him, bald Rumachi approached slowly. He sniffed the air and had a look of disdain and fear on his face, then he put on a stiff smile.

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