[ After two, nearly three, summers together, Geralt expects nothing less than Sam seeing through him. Sam's instincts have been sharp from the moment they met, and the better they know each other, the quicker Sam seems to catch on each time something isn't quite right with Geralt. It is not a fact he minds, but it does mean the gentle prodding comes without surprise.
A part of him doesn't feel as though much has changed. Ciri remains his priority. Calling that meeting is a notion that's circled his thoughts for weeks if not months. The rush of memories simply pushed him to act where he might've otherwise given it more time. Another part of him knows everything is different. That what he's after, what he should be doing, has grown sharp around the edges. Clearer.
There is one aspect he's not allowed himself to fully unravel, though. Something much more personal. Normally, he would swallow it down and push on, and he has. He did the same after his return from the acolytes' hands, throwing his focus onto Ciri instead. It's easier to think about her, to worry about her, than dwell on his troubles. In their world, this was warranted. She was a target for endless threats. Younger. That's less so in Abraxas. His worries are real, but no danger pursues her. Not right now. It's harder to pretend he isn't...that his continued diverted attention on everyone but himself hasn't become a crutch.
He's already holding out Sam's waterskin when Sam turns to reach for it. His expression suggests he knows he's deflecting. Sam will know it, too. ] Are you accusing me of getting old?
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A part of him doesn't feel as though much has changed. Ciri remains his priority. Calling that meeting is a notion that's circled his thoughts for weeks if not months. The rush of memories simply pushed him to act where he might've otherwise given it more time. Another part of him knows everything is different. That what he's after, what he should be doing, has grown sharp around the edges. Clearer.
There is one aspect he's not allowed himself to fully unravel, though. Something much more personal. Normally, he would swallow it down and push on, and he has. He did the same after his return from the acolytes' hands, throwing his focus onto Ciri instead. It's easier to think about her, to worry about her, than dwell on his troubles. In their world, this was warranted. She was a target for endless threats. Younger. That's less so in Abraxas. His worries are real, but no danger pursues her. Not right now. It's harder to pretend he isn't...that his continued diverted attention on everyone but himself hasn't become a crutch.
He's already holding out Sam's waterskin when Sam turns to reach for it. His expression suggests he knows he's deflecting. Sam will know it, too. ] Are you accusing me of getting old?