The second John contacted him, Geralt was making preparations to leave. In an ideal reality, he'd have been given some forewarning, longer than mere hours, but as with most things in life, nothing is ideal. It's all right. He expects John can look after himself, will have to trust that the man can.
He rides. He ends up needing to take a longer route to avoid the soldiers training in the desert. As much as he does not think they will give him trouble for retrieving John—after all, is he not bringing them another Summoned, defecting from the enemy camp?—he is aware he's not asked permission. He's prefer not to push his luck. Fuck knows he's done that enough times already.
He contacts John briefly for information, a few details to help him locate. It's enough to bring him to the cave he knows sits east of the setting sun and slightly south of the mountains, surrounded by massive barrel cacti and...no nests. He's certain the sandskids and howlers are much deeper into the wasteland.
Unfortunately, the wilds are what they are. No accounting for where beasts and monsters may roam when the whim strikes. Especially with all the fighting. Disturbing homes and burrows, uprooting prey and driving predators closer and closer to the local population for food.
It is for that reason that Geralt rides up to find this: a squealing monster in the throes of death, a familiar figure trapped under it but obviously victorious, and a spindly claw scrabbling in the sand before it goes still.
Geralt hops off Roach. Hmm. Not...what he anticipated he'd see when he came to find John. He draws his sword just in case, stepping towards the gory scene and offering John a hand to his feet.
no subject
He rides. He ends up needing to take a longer route to avoid the soldiers training in the desert. As much as he does not think they will give him trouble for retrieving John—after all, is he not bringing them another Summoned, defecting from the enemy camp?—he is aware he's not asked permission. He's prefer not to push his luck. Fuck knows he's done that enough times already.
He contacts John briefly for information, a few details to help him locate. It's enough to bring him to the cave he knows sits east of the setting sun and slightly south of the mountains, surrounded by massive barrel cacti and...no nests. He's certain the sandskids and howlers are much deeper into the wasteland.
Unfortunately, the wilds are what they are. No accounting for where beasts and monsters may roam when the whim strikes. Especially with all the fighting. Disturbing homes and burrows, uprooting prey and driving predators closer and closer to the local population for food.
It is for that reason that Geralt rides up to find this: a squealing monster in the throes of death, a familiar figure trapped under it but obviously victorious, and a spindly claw scrabbling in the sand before it goes still.
Geralt hops off Roach. Hmm. Not...what he anticipated he'd see when he came to find John. He draws his sword just in case, stepping towards the gory scene and offering John a hand to his feet.
"Couldn't wait to find trouble, I see."