A few days? [It's not exactly appropriate, but there's both whine and worry in his voice that slithers through the words. He didn't -- he wants to imagine they'll find Geralt much faster than that. The stream can't be that much further. He was not bloody made for this.

But he wasn't going back. Not without the Witcher.]

A shame I can't bring it with us. [He offers the bush a hand, and the vines slither around him like an embrace, the thorns never scratching his skin.] You'll be fine on your own here, my friend. I'm sure some desert birds will be happy to make your acquaintance.

[Luckily, Jaskier speaking to plants is not a sign the desert is getting to him; it's simply easier to focus on than all the weight in his heart. He plucks a few berries for Red and sets them aside for him, finding the berries regrown by the time he's returned to the plant.

At least some things are working out.] Plenty of extra, I'd say. [He lays out a handkerchief -- Jaskier, even on rescue missions, does not leave home without one -- and packs a few handfuls into it. If only bread and cheese grew on bushes, he'd have a full meal. Brie. A nice brie wheel.

He plucks off a bunch of berries, handing them to Ciri, also carefully wrapped up. As he sits beside her again and Red eats his berries, he looks at her. Thinks of offering her an embrace, but rather sure she would not take it.] I'll make as many bushes as it takes us.

[To get there. To find him.

Even if he wants to believe, in his heart, it won't... it won't be like that. Like the fear he'd seen in Sam. Jaskier did not fear for Geralt. He won't start now.

(It's too late.)]