[ The hawk feels like a bad omen at first, the way it shrieks and circles -- but then, Ciri glimpses a figure on the horizon, coming toward them. A person.
Her heart jumps, and her heels dig into the mule's sides, urging the beast forward into a lurching, grudging lope that can't exactly be called a canter at this speed but seems to be its best attempt. She braces Jaskier as well as she can against her body, and the lead rope tugs along the second mule into a similarly unhappy faster pace. Ciri squints against the sunlight. ]
...Sam?
[ They lurch closer, and his cry hits her like a slap, invigorating and stinging all at once. ]
Jaskier... Saints, Jaskier, it's Sam. How did he--?
Sam!!
[ Ciri raises her voice as they ride closer, Sam sprinting forward to meet them. Against her, Jaskier's dead weight seems to stir faintly. She catches the thick, strained sound of his voice as Sam approaches within earshot, and the excitement and relief over having someone to help turns cold all over again. Her parched lips part to say something to him--
But the only thing she can say is I'm sorry, and Jaskier's made it clear that he doesn't want to hear it. So she turns her attention to Sam instead. ]
He's hurt. [ She announces the obvious without preamble. ] Lost a lot of blood. We need to get him to a healer.
[ Up close, Sam will see the makeshift job she's done bandaging and bracing Jaskier's arm. The blood on both of them, drying and streaked with sweat. Ciri is in nothing but her bandeau, shoulders and back already pink from the sun but otherwise remarkably unscathed for how bloodstained she looks.
The mule tosses his head nervously, and Ciri tightens the reins, drawing their whole grim little procession up short. ]
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Her heart jumps, and her heels dig into the mule's sides, urging the beast forward into a lurching, grudging lope that can't exactly be called a canter at this speed but seems to be its best attempt. She braces Jaskier as well as she can against her body, and the lead rope tugs along the second mule into a similarly unhappy faster pace. Ciri squints against the sunlight. ]
...Sam?
[ They lurch closer, and his cry hits her like a slap, invigorating and stinging all at once. ]
Jaskier... Saints, Jaskier, it's Sam. How did he--?
Sam!!
[ Ciri raises her voice as they ride closer, Sam sprinting forward to meet them. Against her, Jaskier's dead weight seems to stir faintly. She catches the thick, strained sound of his voice as Sam approaches within earshot, and the excitement and relief over having someone to help turns cold all over again. Her parched lips part to say something to him--
But the only thing she can say is I'm sorry, and Jaskier's made it clear that he doesn't want to hear it. So she turns her attention to Sam instead. ]
He's hurt. [ She announces the obvious without preamble. ] Lost a lot of blood. We need to get him to a healer.
[ Up close, Sam will see the makeshift job she's done bandaging and bracing Jaskier's arm. The blood on both of them, drying and streaked with sweat. Ciri is in nothing but her bandeau, shoulders and back already pink from the sun but otherwise remarkably unscathed for how bloodstained she looks.
The mule tosses his head nervously, and Ciri tightens the reins, drawing their whole grim little procession up short. ]