If it's your imagination responding to the stress, I'd like to think it would at least come up with something more encouraging.
[ Ciri listens to Jaskier yelling beside her, eyes closed, letting him just get it out without comment while she continues trying to reach Geralt without any acknowledgement whatsoever. Even knowing and having expected that in the first place, she is furious with him for it.
They both know there's only one person Geralt could mean, if he'd sent that message to Jaskier. Well. He's too fucking late. They're already here, and Ciri has no intention of giving up.
Even if Jaskier is right and they'll probably need to... shift tactics a bit. Ciri sighs and opens her eyes, surveying the scene with a detached sort of coldness. It's going to be dark very soon. Her eyes skim over the bodies, the mess of sand and dirt and supplies in the middle of the camp, landing on the pale glint of the sword lying abandoned further down the hill.
Do not let her come after me.
He's alive. For now. But he's somewhere else, somewhere unsafe, without his sword or any of his gear. Blocking them both out either from fear of being discovered and traced, or because he is unconscious or otherwise can't respond. The possibilities chip away at the sides of Ciri's resolve, sharp little knives whittling her down to a wisp of nothing but exhaustion and hollow resignation.
There is nothing else they can do tonight.
Slowly, Ciri pushes herself up to her feet, then reaches out to offer Jaskier a hand up. ]
We'll gather what we can and make camp on the way back. Put a couple miles between us and... "all of this." Moon should be out soon. We'll ride slow.
no subject
[ Ciri listens to Jaskier yelling beside her, eyes closed, letting him just get it out without comment while she continues trying to reach Geralt without any acknowledgement whatsoever. Even knowing and having expected that in the first place, she is furious with him for it.
They both know there's only one person Geralt could mean, if he'd sent that message to Jaskier. Well. He's too fucking late. They're already here, and Ciri has no intention of giving up.
Even if Jaskier is right and they'll probably need to... shift tactics a bit. Ciri sighs and opens her eyes, surveying the scene with a detached sort of coldness. It's going to be dark very soon. Her eyes skim over the bodies, the mess of sand and dirt and supplies in the middle of the camp, landing on the pale glint of the sword lying abandoned further down the hill.
Do not let her come after me.
He's alive. For now. But he's somewhere else, somewhere unsafe, without his sword or any of his gear. Blocking them both out either from fear of being discovered and traced, or because he is unconscious or otherwise can't respond. The possibilities chip away at the sides of Ciri's resolve, sharp little knives whittling her down to a wisp of nothing but exhaustion and hollow resignation.
There is nothing else they can do tonight.
Slowly, Ciri pushes herself up to her feet, then reaches out to offer Jaskier a hand up. ]
We'll gather what we can and make camp on the way back. Put a couple miles between us and... "all of this." Moon should be out soon. We'll ride slow.
[ Speaking of... where the fuck are the horses? ]