[It's at least every year or so that Jaskier peeks in on Istredd, but honestly, he's turned into such a beast of spontaneity that most often he just shows up, without prompting, to see what's going on. To see if his friends have changed form, or changed their domains, or grown a second head (that hasn't happened yet, fortunately.)]

Good morrow, my friend! [Jaskier bounds over to give him a tight hug without a pause, squeezing him while all his little wings flutter about them both. He has to say, much easier to embrace when one's wings don't get in the way, and Istredd's are particularly fanciful and large.]

You've done a lovely job with it already. Love the sun and the green. [That's what he's about, after all. He's already pulled back to start looking over the books, the music stands holding hand-written notes in the boldest inks.] You rascal, are you trying to flatter me? [But there's a noted way his wings all puff up and flutter when he's pleased, which Istredd is particularly good at if only because he's the only god who still seems to remember what Jaskier was meant to do. Make music, and spread it... and inspire it.] If I should ever disappear, I decided, I wanted to have plenty to leave behind. The music that I inspire isn't mine, per se, but... it's like children, I suppose. Having them, I mean.