[It's foolish sentiment that Jaskier allows hope to grow the closer they get to the camp he's made. Of course he will be there. Geralt is not reliable for some things, but he can be relied upon simply to survive. And survive things he should never have been able to -- like the ghoul bite he'd come to Abraxas with. A wandering sorceress, he'd said, had been the one to save him.
Perhaps Jaskier had simply not accepted how close he'd been, then.
The things they find on the way there don't mean much. A picked beast -- perhaps something Geralt killed for meat, but just as likely a victim of any other predator out here. Hoofprints, yet the desert still had wagons and travelers.
He sends Red out every now and then for a better view of things, but as far as the bird can attempt to do so, there is nothing of note discovered. The corpses of things, either dried out or baking in the sun. Scant pushes, tangles of dead vines sometimes. Scorpions. (He has not seen any, luckily, but Red has apparently eaten a few.)
Now, though, when Red returns it's with a terrible noise. Jaskier pales. It's not that he understands the bird's language, but it's -- the bird is him, his, part of him, and he understands it intrinsically.
His heart goes still.] Blood. The camp, there's -- there's blood in his camp. And a sword.
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Perhaps Jaskier had simply not accepted how close he'd been, then.
The things they find on the way there don't mean much. A picked beast -- perhaps something Geralt killed for meat, but just as likely a victim of any other predator out here. Hoofprints, yet the desert still had wagons and travelers.
He sends Red out every now and then for a better view of things, but as far as the bird can attempt to do so, there is nothing of note discovered. The corpses of things, either dried out or baking in the sun. Scant pushes, tangles of dead vines sometimes. Scorpions. (He has not seen any, luckily, but Red has apparently eaten a few.)
Now, though, when Red returns it's with a terrible noise. Jaskier pales. It's not that he understands the bird's language, but it's -- the bird is him, his, part of him, and he understands it intrinsically.
His heart goes still.] Blood. The camp, there's -- there's blood in his camp. And a sword.