Geralt's eyes snap back to Blake. A long silence balloons in the air between them. He can hear the questions brewing, and he can also sense Blake holding them back. A part of him wants the man to just ask already.
It'd be nice for the fucking birds to redirect their attention elsewhere. For once.
He reaches up to snap off the crystals. They're surprisingly brittle, the dust turning the edges of his hair blue where it settles. He makes a soft, wry noise.
"I was never the tallest amongst my kind." He hands Blake the crystals he asked for and ignores the shadowy crow on the ground. "We're northern folk."
And Witchers on top of that. If Blake were to ever meet Ciri, he'll realize what Geralt means. Even his daughter stands at a height that nearly reaches Jaskier.
no subject
It'd be nice for the fucking birds to redirect their attention elsewhere. For once.
He reaches up to snap off the crystals. They're surprisingly brittle, the dust turning the edges of his hair blue where it settles. He makes a soft, wry noise.
"I was never the tallest amongst my kind." He hands Blake the crystals he asked for and ignores the shadowy crow on the ground. "We're northern folk."
And Witchers on top of that. If Blake were to ever meet Ciri, he'll realize what Geralt means. Even his daughter stands at a height that nearly reaches Jaskier.