[ The cellar is the only place untouched by sand and wind. Geralt has ducked down here to seek a brief reprieve from the endless dust, and to complete the final section of the lab: a table with a few stands where vials can be easily stored.
For most of the day, it's calm. Quiet.
Then Ciri's shouting shatters the peace.
He glances upward. Footsteps stomp above—Ciri pursuing the things, no doubt. He sighs. He cannot in good conscience let the storm swallow Coram or Mog. They're hapless. Incapable of surviving on their own. Why he agreed to let them into the house, he'll never know. They cannot guard like a hound; they cannot work like a horse. All they do is eat and shit.
Never mind that most nights, Coram sleeps at the foot of his bed. He's grown weary of making it stay put on the floor, that's all. (And it made a pathetic noise the one time he tried to lock it out of his room.)
Throwing on his cloak, he emerges upstairs. ] Come on. They can't have got far.
no subject
For most of the day, it's calm. Quiet.
Then Ciri's shouting shatters the peace.
He glances upward. Footsteps stomp above—Ciri pursuing the things, no doubt. He sighs. He cannot in good conscience let the storm swallow Coram or Mog. They're hapless. Incapable of surviving on their own. Why he agreed to let them into the house, he'll never know. They cannot guard like a hound; they cannot work like a horse. All they do is eat and shit.
Never mind that most nights, Coram sleeps at the foot of his bed. He's grown weary of making it stay put on the floor, that's all. (And it made a pathetic noise the one time he tried to lock it out of his room.)
Throwing on his cloak, he emerges upstairs. ] Come on. They can't have got far.