[ Geralt does not necessarily avoid the Godlands, but he sees little reason to visit except to look in on it everything is stable. It's been several centuries, but a part of him remains concerned. If there's one thing he's never forgotten, it's how quickly the world changes.
But lately, even he's started to accept that the days are simply steady and will be for some time.
Moss and old roots unfurl as he rides down the slope towards the crater. He always knows where to find her, and though he could ask her to meet him someplace, he likes the act of just. Arriving. Time is inconsequential, anyhow. A week, two. What does it matter? When he arrives in spring, she's there. His form hasn't shifted, either; he doesn't bother wearing the wolf around her—or any of the gods, really. But his hair is a touch longer, a phoenix feather tucked into the cord.
His gaze flicks briefly to the Singularity—he hears it, but seldom speaks to it like some of the others—before landing on Julie. ]
One of these centuries, [ he dismounts and walks towards her, ] I might be jealous of your ancient friend.
[ With a small smile, he holds out his palm. In it sits a small serpent with two pearls for eyes. It's carved not from wood but from the tusk of a beast he slew. His efforts have grown smoother since the days he first begun, though there's a roughness to his work that's never gone away. He's probably given her countless of these things by now. Frankly doesn't care if she tosses them eventually. He likes giving them to her, that's all. Besides, the winters are slow when one has no mortal needs to look after. It's just him, the mountains, and an endless array of materials to whittle. ]
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But lately, even he's started to accept that the days are simply steady and will be for some time.
Moss and old roots unfurl as he rides down the slope towards the crater. He always knows where to find her, and though he could ask her to meet him someplace, he likes the act of just. Arriving. Time is inconsequential, anyhow. A week, two. What does it matter? When he arrives in spring, she's there. His form hasn't shifted, either; he doesn't bother wearing the wolf around her—or any of the gods, really. But his hair is a touch longer, a phoenix feather tucked into the cord.
His gaze flicks briefly to the Singularity—he hears it, but seldom speaks to it like some of the others—before landing on Julie. ]
One of these centuries, [ he dismounts and walks towards her, ] I might be jealous of your ancient friend.
[ With a small smile, he holds out his palm. In it sits a small serpent with two pearls for eyes. It's carved not from wood but from the tusk of a beast he slew. His efforts have grown smoother since the days he first begun, though there's a roughness to his work that's never gone away. He's probably given her countless of these things by now. Frankly doesn't care if she tosses them eventually. He likes giving them to her, that's all. Besides, the winters are slow when one has no mortal needs to look after. It's just him, the mountains, and an endless array of materials to whittle. ]