[ He makes a sound that passes for, No need to tell me, and leans back on the couch. Every part of him aches, weighing down each limb. Sam doesn't say much else after that; Geralt's not one to fill the silence for the sake of it. He lets it drift over them. Watches the flames flicker. Eventually, he can hear Sam's breathing start to even out. When he looks over—hm. Yeah. Sam's dead to the world.
Geralt gives it another ten, fifteen, minutes. Make sure Sam isn't going to stir. Then he gets up to check on the windows and doors, peers into both Ciri and Jaskier. Alina. They're sleeping, too.
For the first time, there's finally nothing happening. (Thank fuck.)
Geralt returns to the couch to toss a blanket over Sam. He doesn't sit back down, though, not wanting to fall asleep himself. He takes up residence on a nearby chair instead. That's where he stays for the rest of the night, keeping one eye on Sam and the other over the rest of the home. ]
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Geralt gives it another ten, fifteen, minutes. Make sure Sam isn't going to stir. Then he gets up to check on the windows and doors, peers into both Ciri and Jaskier. Alina. They're sleeping, too.
For the first time, there's finally nothing happening. (Thank fuck.)
Geralt returns to the couch to toss a blanket over Sam. He doesn't sit back down, though, not wanting to fall asleep himself. He takes up residence on a nearby chair instead. That's where he stays for the rest of the night, keeping one eye on Sam and the other over the rest of the home. ]