[ Ciri rolls into a crouch, catlike, snatching up her sword again with the bloody dagger still in her off hand. Her blouse, once a light beige linen, sports crimson stains all down one side. Every sense is alight, and the magic is one of them, the thrum of it beneath her skin mingling with the adrenaline pumping through her veins in a steady, heady buzz that sets her nerves alight. Ciri doesn't have a Witcher's mutations, but she has a Witcher's instinct, and reflexes as close as a human can get.
She surveys the scene in an instant. Two dead beside her. Three in a cluster in the main camp, fighting off Jaskier's wildly thrashing vines, distracted enough for the moment to let Ciri catch her breath. And one--
She catches the flurry of motion and sound off to the side, further up the hill. Dust kicked up by Jaskier's fall. Jaskier's voice rising in a cry that seems as much shock as pain at first. Then, unmistakably, terror. ]
Fuck.
[ Already, Ciri is shoving to her feet, sprinting forward. Already, she knows it is too far. Her boots hit the earth, harder, faster with each step, the dusty air searing her lungs, but she can only run so fast. There's no time. She hadn't noticed, she'd been too occupied wrestling with that bastard in the dirt, and now--
Jaskier has curled in on himself, a helpless target. Sharp steel glints above him, raised high above the bandit's bald head, while one heavy boot connects with Jaskier's side in a bid, perhaps, to roll him over. Perhaps just for fun. The bald man laughs as he does it, but he doesn't seem inclined to wait for the begging to start.
Ciri's blood turns to ice in her veins. She is still a good twenty feet away, close enough to hear the hiss of sharpened steel slicing through air. Too far to reach. ]
Jaskier!
[ She's going to watch him die. The sword begins to swing downward, and she knows, recognizes the force and the angle, knows it is a killing blow. And she knows, with even more certainty, with all the force of her will and her power and desperation behind it, that she will not let that happen.
Ciri lunges forward, reaches inward. There is no fear or caution. Only will.
Move.
And just like that, between one step and the next, Ciri blinks across the remaining distance in the span of half a moment, reappearing mid-lunge in the space above Jaskier to barrel straight into the bandit, her sword hitting his hard enough to summon sparks. ]
no subject
She surveys the scene in an instant. Two dead beside her. Three in a cluster in the main camp, fighting off Jaskier's wildly thrashing vines, distracted enough for the moment to let Ciri catch her breath. And one--
She catches the flurry of motion and sound off to the side, further up the hill. Dust kicked up by Jaskier's fall. Jaskier's voice rising in a cry that seems as much shock as pain at first. Then, unmistakably, terror. ]
Fuck.
[ Already, Ciri is shoving to her feet, sprinting forward. Already, she knows it is too far. Her boots hit the earth, harder, faster with each step, the dusty air searing her lungs, but she can only run so fast. There's no time. She hadn't noticed, she'd been too occupied wrestling with that bastard in the dirt, and now--
Jaskier has curled in on himself, a helpless target. Sharp steel glints above him, raised high above the bandit's bald head, while one heavy boot connects with Jaskier's side in a bid, perhaps, to roll him over. Perhaps just for fun. The bald man laughs as he does it, but he doesn't seem inclined to wait for the begging to start.
Ciri's blood turns to ice in her veins. She is still a good twenty feet away, close enough to hear the hiss of sharpened steel slicing through air. Too far to reach. ]
Jaskier!
[ She's going to watch him die. The sword begins to swing downward, and she knows, recognizes the force and the angle, knows it is a killing blow. And she knows, with even more certainty, with all the force of her will and her power and desperation behind it, that she will not let that happen.
Ciri lunges forward, reaches inward. There is no fear or caution. Only will.
Move.
And just like that, between one step and the next, Ciri blinks across the remaining distance in the span of half a moment, reappearing mid-lunge in the space above Jaskier to barrel straight into the bandit, her sword hitting his hard enough to summon sparks. ]