[Things are sort of trickling in as he attempts to line up the long, frantic line of ducks in his mind, but the most understandable part -- a beam of light through the fog of his confusion -- is that Cirilla is crying. Though he doesn't know her so well, he thinks that must mean something is very wrong.
There were knives. A knife. And vines.
He does look at her because following orders in the moment feels very easy; much easier than trying to put things together. Right. He was going to faint -- or had he? The moment feels wavy, dreamlike. She tugs the shirt around his arm too tight and the pain is a lightning flash through his head, a crack. He cries out and all at once is very, very awake. It makes him quite aware of how cold he is beginning to feel.
Oh no. She's prattling. Only Jaskier is supposed to prattle. Things are very bad, then.] I'm -- I'm sure I'm fine. [With whatever she's doing. His head spins again. The air is thick with the smell of blood. It is startling familiar to him, like when Geralt slays a monster --]
Geralt. [He croaks it, his throat and mouth dry. His lips hurt, too. Even among everything else, he can feel the pain of them rubbed raw from sand.] You -- you should get... Geralt. He can help.
[For the moment, he cannot remember Geralt is not here. Even though he's not really sure where he is still. He tries to get up to his knees, not realizing one of his arms is now immobile. Oh, shit. Geralt will never let him hear the end of this.] Ciri, where is your shirt?
[Oh, boy. He might be going into shock. His stomach twists.] Please stop crying.
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There were knives. A knife. And vines.
He does look at her because following orders in the moment feels very easy; much easier than trying to put things together. Right. He was going to faint -- or had he? The moment feels wavy, dreamlike. She tugs the shirt around his arm too tight and the pain is a lightning flash through his head, a crack. He cries out and all at once is very, very awake. It makes him quite aware of how cold he is beginning to feel.
Oh no. She's prattling. Only Jaskier is supposed to prattle. Things are very bad, then.] I'm -- I'm sure I'm fine. [With whatever she's doing. His head spins again. The air is thick with the smell of blood. It is startling familiar to him, like when Geralt slays a monster --]
Geralt. [He croaks it, his throat and mouth dry. His lips hurt, too. Even among everything else, he can feel the pain of them rubbed raw from sand.] You -- you should get... Geralt. He can help.
[For the moment, he cannot remember Geralt is not here. Even though he's not really sure where he is still. He tries to get up to his knees, not realizing one of his arms is now immobile. Oh, shit. Geralt will never let him hear the end of this.] Ciri, where is your shirt?
[Oh, boy. He might be going into shock. His stomach twists.] Please stop crying.
[It was very much terrifying him.]