Tara Baker smiled to herself as she spotted a large rock at the bottom of the deep and rather large pond she was standing over. Spread across the submerged rock was the mossy Hornwort the young herbalist was seeking out. Her dark brown locks were done up in a ponytail, and a light and frilly white blouse gently hugged her slim torso with a pair of dark tight leather pants hugging her legs and tight ass, accompanying a matching pair of small leather boots. Slung across her modest-sized chest was a tan satchel, where she often stored and carried her herbs. Shrugging her satchel off, she began untying her shirt, slipping it off to reveal a leather bra supporting her bosom as her hands went to work on her boots. Being bent over, preoccupied by removing her boots, her heart-shaped rear was instinctively pushed out and presented; being quite the pleasant sight if any got a look of it. Struggling with her boots a little before discarding them, she finally unlaced her pants and slipped out of them to stand only in a small leather thong. She dipped a toe in to feel the water, wincing a little as she felt the pond's initial frigidness, she exhaled slowly giving herself a minute before she then began wading into the body of water. Once in the center she then dived down, unaware of any on-lookers or others about, the girl herself only spotted a few deer and rabbits, but could hear wild dogs off in the distance.
Calling them "monster slayers" was to define them by the activity that took the smallest portion of her lives. Actually fighting monsters was not as common an occurrence as people thought, and most battles didn't last long at all. The vast majority of the time, a witcher was on the road, moving from village to town, taking care of his equipment, or busies himself with resupplying his alchemical supplies. That day, Arryn and Tormel were occupied with the latter. They need a hornwort for nigerdo that they needed for-- oh, what did it matter. Tormel insisted, and what could Arryn do but comply?
It was a pleasant day in a generally pleasant spring, and searching for the best location that could hint at the presence of a herb was an unhurried task. They didn't say much to one another - being on the road together for half a year, you tend to run out of words at some point - but the hike itself was enjoyable.
Eventually, they did narrow down the location, and from a distance, they spotted a figure on the pond's bank. "Look," Tormel said, lifting a leather-clad finger to point. Arryn squinted, nodded with a curious twinkle in his eyes, and kept on marching. After a few more moments, they were close enough for their eyes to pick up additional details - but too far to be in comfortable shouting range.
"A girl," said Arryn.
"Nothing gets by you."
"Stripping."
"Really?"
"Much gets by you. Look."
"Oh yeah. You're right."
That little fact breathe some new life into Tormel, who was now marching a tad faster with a hint of a smile on his face. But before they arrived, Tara had already lunged inside and begun to dive.
Arryn walked over her equipment and sifted through it with his boot. He squatted by the satchel, opened it shamelessly, and then held it up for Tormel to see. "Herbalist," the dark-haired witcher said.
"Hah," Tormel replied, grinning wider and running a hand through his bright locks. "Spirited girl. I think she's after our hornwort."
"I think you're right," Arryn agreed, letting go of the satchel and straightening. The two witchers waited there for a head to break the surface of the water, the dark-haired one with a thumb hooked in his belt, the bright one with his arms folded.
Tara had a glass vial in one hand as she dove to the bottom, reaching the hornwort-covered stone after a few more minutes. Quickly she gathered the sought-after moss, fitting its tangled mass into the thick vial and corking it once done so. Feeling herself running out of air she pushed herself up to the surface.
Bubbles forming and reaching the surface right above her, her head breaking through with a sharp gasp for air from her. Her eyes opened and widened at the sight of the two leather-glad and armed men there to greet her. At first, she thought it was a pair of bandits, but it only took her a second to dismiss that notion as she was close enough to get a better look at the men. Though she had never met nor seen one, she had heard the stories of the both famous and infamous Witchers and their schools.
