A Familiar Old Place

It was morning. "Mom! What's that big brother doing? Why's he staring at the notice board like that?" an innocent little girl asked, pointing at the young man in leather armor, with two swords on his back and a brown mare in tow.

Her mother turned to look, and the sight of his attire immediately startled her. She hurriedly picked up the little girl and walked away. "Shh! Don't stare at him. He might kidnap you."

When he left Ellander two days ago, Mother Nenneke had kept her word. She had truly prepared a fine horse for him. The brown mare was of moderate build, with glossy fur and strong, sturdy limbs. Victor had loved her at first sight and named her "Amber."

He had planned to ride to Temeria's capital. Since the shortest route passed through Downwarren, and that place had left Victor with a terrible impression, he decided to take a slight detour—heading south to the Ismena River first, then following it west toward Vizima.

At the time, he had not expected this route to bring him a surprise.

And so now, as he looked at the notice board of "White Orchard," he was overcome with mixed feelings.

Though the memories were already more than a decade old, after spending hundreds of hours in The Witcher 3, there were always things about that unchanging beginning of the story that one could never forget.

Ignoring the child's innocent words and the peasant woman's harsh remarks, Victor led his horse through the village in search of what should have been its only inn. Since he was here, he might as well do a little sightseeing.

Passing the smithy, he heard the clanging of hammer against anvil and deliberately went inside to ask the dwarven blacksmith to sharpen his steel sword. He had forgotten whether the blacksmith had a name in the game, so he asked.

The dwarven blacksmith, whose beard was streaked black and gray, held no ill will toward witchers. Cheerful and easygoing, he even refused payment and served Victor for free.

He said his name was Willis, and that he had lived here for fifty years, close with the humans of White Orchard like one family. If the witcher wanted to show his gratitude, he could check for drowners by the river. They rarely appeared, but they were still around.

Victor nodded in agreement, then left the smithy and continued on. He passed chicken coops, pigsties, and cattle sheds. Back when he had played Geralt in the game, his first pot of gold had come from the sacrifice of just such livestock.

At last, he followed a path to his destination. Tying Amber outside the entrance, he walked into the inn. Morning was the busy time for farm work, so few people came to drink, leaving the place rather empty. The arrangement of tables and chairs felt strangely familiar, while the Temerian lily shield that had sparked countless tavern massacres in the game hung spotless behind the innkeeper.

His leather boots clacked against the wooden floor. "Good morning, ma'am. What may I call you?" Victor asked politely as he approached the innkeeper.

Being addressed as "ma'am" clearly made the middle-aged woman a little uncomfortable. "El... Elsa," she said.

Victor nodded with a smile. "Elsa, a jug of warm milk, please. Thank you."

By evening, Amber reluctantly slowed to a stop after her run. Victor swung down from the saddle and led her on foot through a dazzling array of herb beds, then knocked on the wooden door of a small cottage.

The woman who answered was around forty. Her long black hair was threaded with a few streaks of gray, and crow's feet lingered at the corners of her eyes, impossible to hide. Yet the blue of her eyes remained pure, while her full figure carried the sweet scent of chamomile.

Facing the woman, Victor raised the cloth bundle in his hand. "Good evening, Miss Tomira. I saw your notice. This is the beehive you wanted. Also, I noticed you have allspice and celandine in your herb garden. Could I buy some from you?"

Tomira was White Orchard's herbalist, but she did not live in the village. Instead, she had built her cottage in a valley on the slope two miles outside it.

She came from the city and had seen the world, making her an odd fit among the villagers. Thus, the young man's courteous visit pleased her greatly.

After talking a little more, they discovered that not only did they both know herbs, they also shared certain views on the changes in the world. As a result, Victor received an invitation from the cottage's owner to join her for dinner.

The wide variety of spices in the cottage kitchen fully displayed its owner's taste. There were black pepper pork chops, ratatouille, and honey croissants. After a delicious dinner that left both host and guest satisfied, Tomira opened a bottle of Toussaint wine and had Victor drink with her.

There was no doubt that she was an easygoing woman. Straightforward but never crude, the two drank in the cottage and complained together, starting with the lack of spring rain that had stunted the herbs, then moving on to Nilfgaard's invasion driving up wine prices.

Warm with drink, Victor nudged the herbalist's arm with his elbow. "Hey, Tomira, tell me about yourself. What's your story? Why did you come to a place like this?"

She narrowed her eyes slightly and looked at Victor. "My story... is a sad one. Do you know the Temple of Melitele in Ellander?"

The young man raised his glass of red wine and clinked it against the herbalist's. "You're asking if I know it? I just left there. Amber was a gift from Mother Nenneke."

Tomira took a large gulp of red wine. "What a strange coincidence! I trained as a healer under Priestess Nenneke.

"Well... I was only eighteen when they took me in. Compared to studying, I was much more interested in romance."

Thinking of the young, bold female students in the temple, Victor smiled over the rim of his wineglass.

"There was a boy back then... Gustlaf. He always worked bare-chested. All the apprentices stared at him without blinking. They'd trip while walking and knock things over.

"I left the temple for him. We spent a wonderful summer together... and then he left me behind."

At that, the herbalist took another gulp of red wine.

"I never got to see Lady Nenneke again. Priestess Herosvissa refused to take me back. My parents also refused to speak to me anymore. They gave me a cloak and a small pouch of gold coins, then sent me away.

"After that, I traveled for a long time, trying to find somewhere that made me feel safe, somewhere I felt needed.

"In the end, I came to White Orchard. That's the end of the story."

The atmosphere froze for quite a while.

Setting down his wineglass, Victor opened his arms and gave Tomira a warm embrace. "It is indeed a sad story, but I can tell you've come to terms with much of it. You're doing well now. It's all in the past, isn't it?"

Feeling the young man's friendly pats on her back, Tomira hesitated for a moment before gently returning the embrace. "Yes. Things are good now."

At midnight, Victor, who had been allowed to stay the night, was shocked to find himself suffering from sleep paralysis again. But having learned from experience, he did not try to call for help this time. Instead, in the darkness, he breathed in the scent drifting into his nostrils.

Chamomile, also known as motherwort, had a faintly sweet fragrance. Its essential oil could be extracted through steam distillation. The finished product was dark blue in appearance, with a rich, sweet scent, moderate volatility, and a medium-strong aroma.

In his daze, the young man seemed to fall into an ocean of chamomile, rising and falling with the tides, swept along by the waves.