[ He stares right back until he can hear Jaskier's heart begin to settle. Then he lets him go. Studying him. He isn't sure what to say. This has caught him more off guard than he wants to admit. There've been few constants in his life, but Jaskier has always been one: a bard, a human, (his friend), nothing more. And then.

In some ways, he understands. That fear that envelopes you when you feel your body is no longer yours. When there's a power that was never meant to belong to you crackling under your skin. It's wrong and it isn't, and eventually it settles. Eventually, you forget you were ever once anything else at all. ]

I don't know how this power has been made yours. [ His gaze is steady. ] But it is yours. You can use it. [ He finally sits back against the tub. The filthy water is lukewarm, and far less appealing than it was ten minutes ago. He wrings out his half-heartedly scrubbed hair. ] Some grasses are fatal to chew on. And some can heal.