Geralt pulled sharply on the reins, bringing his mount to an abrupt halt as piercing screams tore through the stillness of the forest. The cries emanated from within a large cave dwelling nestled into the rocky hillside on his left, their desperate quality unmistakable even at this distance.

Without hesitation, he swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted in one fluid motion, his boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. His hand moved instinctively to the hilt of his silver sword, fingers wrapping around the familiar grip as he drew the blade free with a whisper of steel against leather.

The weight of the weapon felt reassuring in his grasp as he began his approach, moving with deliberate caution toward the yawning mouth of the cave. Each step was measured and silent, his witcher senses heightened, alert to any sign of danger that might lurk within the darkness ahead.