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Kaer Morhen had powerful wards to fend off any unwanted visitors or curses, but that wasn’t always the case. Back when witchers were respected and not feared, back when humans came and went from the witcher keeps as honoured guests, before the siege and the massacre of almost everyone that Vesemir called family, there had been no protection. The witchers had been too sure of their own abilities.
It had been their downfall.
The keep in the Blue Mountains was cursed and the witchers of Kaer Morhen fell. Those who remained were victims of the spell, even decades later. The Wolves of Kaer Morhen. No one quite knew how accurate that name was.
Vesemir sat on his balcony watching as the sun began to set behind the horizon. All his pups were finally home for winter, with thankfully no fatalities. They could settle in for the season and enjoy the company of their pack. Vesemir’s medallion began to hum and a familiar itch crawled over his skin. He could already hear the howling from around the keep so he closed his eyes and let the magic take him. Pain ripped through his body, bones cracking and there was a ringing in his head as his senses adjusted to his new form.
The wolves were howling in Kaer Morhen once more.
Vesemir landed on four paws and made his way through the corridors, heading towards the barking and growling from pups. He found the three of them in the dining room, two older wolves, teenagers, one white and one sandy gold, between them lay a smaller pup with russet fur.
Lambert was jumping up at his brothers, biting at their ears and mouthing at their snouts. The older wolves let out low growls but allowed their brother to clamber all over them. Vesemir gave a sharp bark and Lambert dropped to the floor, rolling onto his back and wagging his tail. Geralt sat down next to Eskel, two pairs of golden eyes were fixed on Vesemir, tails wagging behind them. They’d all had a long day with chores, but they had a few hours before they would curl up in front of the fire, and it was time to play.
Vesemir took a deep breath and then howled, letting the wolf’s instincts take over. The three younger wolves joined the chorus, Lambert’s howl really more of a bark but his ears flopped forward and he pranced around with more energy than he ever had when he was a witcher.
And then they were running, flying through the woods surrounding the keep. Lambert kept up as well as he could but he had smaller legs than the rest, so every so often Geralt or Eskel would pick him up the scruff of his neck. Eventually, they reach the river and all hell broke loose.
Geralt and Eskel reverted back to cubs, splashing and playing in the water, Lambert started chasing and terrorising the fish, and Vesemir just sighed, laying on the edge of the river with his head on his paws. He would inevitably be pulled into the water but he would rest whilst he could, after all, he wasn’t the young wolf that he used to be. He sniffed the air as he looked up at the moon. It had been a devastating curse in the beginning but in the twilight of the era of witchers, it was almost a blessing.