Ah. [He blinks, his tone indicating he hadn't thought of that.] A fine idea, actually. I'll do that.
[He wasn't sure if that was true, but it was sound logic. Even if it was his magic, he hadn't... exactly practiced it as much as he should have. Not like his birds, not like the spell that maintained Red. He plucks a reasonable tangle of vines down, watching as they tie themselves tighter for him.
Pocket berries. Amazing.
Unfortunately, messing about with the bushes doesn't pass as much time as he'd like, but it does give him the opportunity to glut on berries and fill Red up. He sends the falcon out to look around a few times, simply to make sure the beasts of the desert don't draw too close to their temporary camp.
And at sunset, as the desert begins to cool, they pack up the horses (newly fed on berries, their muzzles stained purple) and slip back onto their saddles, back on the path. Jaskier has yet to have the misfortune of traversing a godsforsaken desert until now, so he can only hope Ciri does know where this stream lay. If she's even half as good at Geralt at tracking, she'll find it.
He can't ignore the niggling ideas of what they'll find there. Geralt, hale and whole, annoyed they've come to find him. Or no evidence Geralt was ever there.
As they ride, and far from the last time, Jaskier tries to send a message to Geralt through the wave of the Singularity's magic. As short as he can keep it, even though he wishes to scream large, capital letters at him. Geralt, where are you? Where the fuck are you?
And like every message before, there is no response. A door firmly shut in his face. While perhaps that should have been a terrible sign, for Geralt... it didn't really mean much. Jaskier had long discovered Geralt had found his way to keep people's words out of his head.
He doesn't update her. Either she knows, or she doesn't wish to. Unspoken is their promise to broach the topic of exactly what they're doing out here. Even Jaskier respects it.
Mostly, he even stays quiet himself. All he gives Ciri is a reminder he's human and needs breaks -- a few moments on his own feet instead of his ass on the horse, and time for them to eat and drink again. Time to let the horses drink.
And then it's back on this Path that has no road. And, really, no destination outside Geralt.]
no subject
[He wasn't sure if that was true, but it was sound logic. Even if it was his magic, he hadn't... exactly practiced it as much as he should have. Not like his birds, not like the spell that maintained Red. He plucks a reasonable tangle of vines down, watching as they tie themselves tighter for him.
Pocket berries. Amazing.
Unfortunately, messing about with the bushes doesn't pass as much time as he'd like, but it does give him the opportunity to glut on berries and fill Red up. He sends the falcon out to look around a few times, simply to make sure the beasts of the desert don't draw too close to their temporary camp.
And at sunset, as the desert begins to cool, they pack up the horses (newly fed on berries, their muzzles stained purple) and slip back onto their saddles, back on the path. Jaskier has yet to have the misfortune of traversing a godsforsaken desert until now, so he can only hope Ciri does know where this stream lay. If she's even half as good at Geralt at tracking, she'll find it.
He can't ignore the niggling ideas of what they'll find there. Geralt, hale and whole, annoyed they've come to find him. Or no evidence Geralt was ever there.
As they ride, and far from the last time, Jaskier tries to send a message to Geralt through the wave of the Singularity's magic. As short as he can keep it, even though he wishes to scream large, capital letters at him. Geralt, where are you? Where the fuck are you?
And like every message before, there is no response. A door firmly shut in his face. While perhaps that should have been a terrible sign, for Geralt... it didn't really mean much. Jaskier had long discovered Geralt had found his way to keep people's words out of his head.
He doesn't update her. Either she knows, or she doesn't wish to. Unspoken is their promise to broach the topic of exactly what they're doing out here. Even Jaskier respects it.
Mostly, he even stays quiet himself. All he gives Ciri is a reminder he's human and needs breaks -- a few moments on his own feet instead of his ass on the horse, and time for them to eat and drink again. Time to let the horses drink.
And then it's back on this Path that has no road. And, really, no destination outside Geralt.]