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At first the woods of Toussaint smelled like all other the other woods Eskel had traveled through in his long time on the continent. Pine and oak. Fresh grass, wet earth, and molding deadfall. He’d picked up a contract outside of Flovive that told of a hulking terror that was haunting the local woods and set out shortly after noon. Supposedly the beast, whatever it was, spent its days hiding in a cave that no one could recall the specific location of.
He lead Scorpion through the gold dappled grass that filled the spaces between every tree. Looking for signs of the lost cave. A monster in a cave no surprises there. Not being able to find the cave was a serious inconvenience though. The toasty smell of smoking oak caught Eskel’s attention and he turned to follow it without much thought. Some sentient monsters made use of fire. Trolls cooked over giant pots sometimes, it wasn’t unheard of. Perhaps it would lead him to his cave.
The smoky smell of burning dry wood was definitely a campfire. Twenty-five more paces to the west the distinct waft of pheasant began to mingle with it. Something or someone cooking on a campfire for sure then. Eskel continued to head west, carefully, quietly. Still no signs of a cave anywhere. No sign of a spriggan or ogroid. The forest around him remained full of the usual sounds of animals, a wolf here and there, a few birds—but not too many—the rustle of tiny mice under the leaf litter. Even the trickle of a stream was audible far off in the background.
Eskel was ready to abandon the scent of the campfire and cooking pheasant, certain it was just a knight errant, off on a quest to best some beast he’d likely never track down. He tugged Scorpion’s reins, leading the stallion back to the east. But as soon as he did he caught the unmistakable whiff of alchemy paste mixed mixed with vermillion. No knight errant would know how to make vampire oil, as valuable of a tool as it was to a witcher working in Toussaint.
Suddenly all thought of finding the cave and completing his contract was lost in the back of his mind. He scented the air again, yes, a bit of wolfsbane there and the cortinarious muchroom undertone that smelled like Lambert’s feet after a summer on The Path. Picking up his pace he turned sharply west again. He couldn’t decide if the bear fat was from the vampire oil or being used to cook the pheasant now, an he didn’t care. The promise of welcome company pulled him along like a tether.
Over the small creek, feet splashing in the water. Eskel was almost running when he hit the small clearing and dropped the reins he was leading Scorpion by. Geralt’s was crouched in front of the campfire, tending to his dinner, still facing away from Eskel. Scorpion snorted and wandered off to graze near Roach. Geralt never turned around but he did stand up from the fire just in time to be surrounded when Eskel threw his arms around him from behind. Burying his head in the junction of Geralt’s neck and shoulder Eskel took a deep breath. Inhaling the scent of leather and vampire oil; of salty skin and horse, Eskel broke into a smile.
“Never planned on running into you here this summer,” Eskel pressed a kiss to Geralt’s neck.
A rich laugh spilled out of Geralt, “You are louder than a troll rolling down a mountain you know that? I heard you coming from at least two furlongs away.”
“I wasn’t tryin’ to be quiet,” Eskel mumbled against Geralt’s neck feeling a little ashamed at his excitement now. “Once I smelled you, I was in too much of a hurry to care who heard me.”
“Oh? You smelled me from all that way huh?” Geralt teased leaning back against Eskel’s broad chest.
“Mhmm,” Eskel’s answer rumbled through his ribcage and into Geralt.
“And what do I smell like?”
Eskel swallowed and took another breath of Geralt’s skin, analyzing every piece of alchemy, man, and nature that made up the smell of his lover. Greasy tallow, clean water, the crisp green snap of ribleaf, the sharp cut of Whitegull, the mild sweet smell of his leather armor, and the soft sweaty hay smell of Roach mingled in with it all. Everything he loved, all rolled up into one. How could he describe that?
“Hmm, you smell like blade oil and leather,” Eskel started working on leaving a dark mark on Geralt’s, proof to others he was taken at least for a day, maybe two if he was lucky and Geralt didn’t take a Swallow. “A little bit like Roach.”
Geralt laughed rich and deep again, “I smell like my job and my horse, attractive. Thanks.”
“No.” Eskel huffed out biting at Geralt’s neck softly, enough to make his breath catch though, to get his attention, “It’s so much more than that but I can’t jus’ explain it. It’s not that easy. I love how you smell.”
“Mhmm,” Geralt tipped his head to the side to offer Eskel better access. “Keep on doing that and I just might believe you.”
Now it was Eskel’s turn to laugh. He nuzzled against Geralt squeezing his arms around him just a little tighter, enjoying the company and the warmth of the fire even in the middle of the day. Geralt closed his eyes and let himself sway in Eskel’s hold.
They stayed like that for several long minutes, just savoring each others unexpected presence in the middle of the Toussaint forest. An unplanned chance meeting on The Path, a rare break, when they typically only got to spend winters together.
“What’s that smell?” Geralt asked, nose wrinkled up at the acrid note that had joined the air. Opening his eyes he looked down at the fire, “Oh shit!”
“I think your pheasant is burning,” Eskel stated matter-of-factly as Geralt struggled to withdraw himself from his arms.