Ben was babbling, which was both a good and a bad sign. The good part was that he had wits enough to talk. The bad part was that he lacked the wits to know when and where he was. Geralt grunted, bent at the waist and slung the werewolf over his shoulder. Being a mutant (and used to hard labour besides), Geralt found Ben's skinny weight easy enough to handle. Even tipsy.

"Let's get you out of here," Geralt muttered and stepped over chipmunk corpses and the scattered wreckage of the party towards the door. Once there, he turned back and made a sharp whistle with his teeth.

"Lily!" He called. "Ben's safe! Come guard us while I examine him!"

And Geralt stepped through the wreckage of the doors as the ship began to stabilise. The frown didn't leave his face, though. Ben was hurt.

"Fucking shit," Geralt swore. "Let's hope your lycanthropy is the type with healing, my friend."