Sixty warriors with bows strung, swords drawn, followed the Demon Hunter out of the camp.
Not far behind them, cheers erupted from the camp.
The refugees once again celebrated a closer step to a stable and peaceful life, celebrating the elimination of a security risk.
Ciri gritted her teeth, angrily whipping at anything passing by with a dead branch she picked up from the ground.
On the road, Dandelion unusually refrained from making any jesting remarks.
The Demon Hunters seemed accustomed to being shunned and driven away after saving people, thus Geralt and Ged remained indifferent.
The only sounds were the silent footsteps crunching on dry branches and leaves, along with Ciri's branch hitting tree trunks and bushes.
Nobody cared to watch the time; they walked in silence until the horizon showed the first light of dawn.
"We've been walking for at least four hours."
Dandelion suddenly spoke coldly.
