[ The man Geralt had met was nothing like who Sam's describing. Someone who casually greeted his horse and told him the cities had better dance partners. Sam's talking about a man who's learned to disappear, who Sam seems to expect to stay hidden despite their agreement to meet up. It sparks a sudden, different interest.
It also makes it easier to work with. Sounds like something Geralt would do, if he weren't with Jaskier and Ciri. Vanish, find some place to settle alone without drawing attention. He turns down the narrow street that leads towards the back alleys of Cadens, streets he picked out the moment he set foot in this place. Cheap inns, old shops tucked away where small bits of supplies can be bought or even stolen. Around here might be it.
Tracking in the city is more difficult than in the woods: more people, more smells, more footprints. If Sam says anything, he'll answer, but—mostly he's quiet as he searches, and it isn't difficult to tell he is, in fact, scenting the air. He peers into shops and behind taverns without a word, like he's used to going about his work while people stare or ignore him as they will. So long as they don't move to throw him out, Geralt seems to pay them no attention. As the night dwindles, so do the people lingering. So do the number of places they've yet to look.
Nothing so far. It's only been, what. Barely two days? If there's a trail, it should be here. It can't dissipate that quickly.
When he finally turns around to face Sam, it's not with the first question that's on his mind. No point in going there unless he has to. Instead, he asks, ] You're certain he wouldn't have hitched a wagon?
no subject
It also makes it easier to work with. Sounds like something Geralt would do, if he weren't with Jaskier and Ciri. Vanish, find some place to settle alone without drawing attention. He turns down the narrow street that leads towards the back alleys of Cadens, streets he picked out the moment he set foot in this place. Cheap inns, old shops tucked away where small bits of supplies can be bought or even stolen. Around here might be it.
Tracking in the city is more difficult than in the woods: more people, more smells, more footprints. If Sam says anything, he'll answer, but—mostly he's quiet as he searches, and it isn't difficult to tell he is, in fact, scenting the air. He peers into shops and behind taverns without a word, like he's used to going about his work while people stare or ignore him as they will. So long as they don't move to throw him out, Geralt seems to pay them no attention. As the night dwindles, so do the people lingering. So do the number of places they've yet to look.
Nothing so far. It's only been, what. Barely two days? If there's a trail, it should be here. It can't dissipate that quickly.
When he finally turns around to face Sam, it's not with the first question that's on his mind. No point in going there unless he has to. Instead, he asks, ] You're certain he wouldn't have hitched a wagon?