[ The soft, pained noises he makes dig into her heart, but Ciri does not apologize again. What is the point? Apologies aren't going to do shit now. She needs to get him safe, and fast.
So Ciri prioritizes moving quickly over both their comfort, as neither of them are going to be in any way at ease no matter what. She hoists Jaskier up, leaving him listlessly draped over the mule for a minute while she gathers up the lead of the second animal and ties it securely to the saddlebag strap in the back, leaving enough room to keep either beast from panicking. Luckily, as hauling mules used to walking in chains and being weighed down, they should be both sturdy enough to hold two riders at once and follow one another without complaint.
Once she's sure they're about as likely to all get back to the city as possible, as a configuration, Ciri pulls herself up behind Jaskier. He's unconscious again. Ignoring this -- and the way it makes her blood cold and clammy inside her -- she moves him, painfully rolling over and adjusting his limp body to lean across her lap instead of slung face down like so much luggage.
They ride. He drifts, and she talks to him, aimless and stupid little words that leave her mouth and are lost to the gritty wind with neither of them remembering their contents. He moans, and she soothes his sweaty brow with the back of a hand and a muffled curse.
Somewhere overhead, a hawk cries. Its shadow falls on them, circling. ]
Nothing dead for you to scavenge here. [ Ciri mutters, ignoring it and pressing the mule faster despite its heavy burden. ]
no subject
So Ciri prioritizes moving quickly over both their comfort, as neither of them are going to be in any way at ease no matter what. She hoists Jaskier up, leaving him listlessly draped over the mule for a minute while she gathers up the lead of the second animal and ties it securely to the saddlebag strap in the back, leaving enough room to keep either beast from panicking. Luckily, as hauling mules used to walking in chains and being weighed down, they should be both sturdy enough to hold two riders at once and follow one another without complaint.
Once she's sure they're about as likely to all get back to the city as possible, as a configuration, Ciri pulls herself up behind Jaskier. He's unconscious again. Ignoring this -- and the way it makes her blood cold and clammy inside her -- she moves him, painfully rolling over and adjusting his limp body to lean across her lap instead of slung face down like so much luggage.
They ride. He drifts, and she talks to him, aimless and stupid little words that leave her mouth and are lost to the gritty wind with neither of them remembering their contents. He moans, and she soothes his sweaty brow with the back of a hand and a muffled curse.
Somewhere overhead, a hawk cries. Its shadow falls on them, circling. ]
Nothing dead for you to scavenge here. [ Ciri mutters, ignoring it and pressing the mule faster despite its heavy burden. ]