[She has a point. If it was his imagination, Geralt would have been very specific about where he was, what he was doing, and complimenting Jaskier's very talented hands and dick.

Jaskier takes her hand, letting most of her strength pull him up. He feels as if his legs have turned into worms, his stomach still quite unsure whether it wants to empty itself or not. (He'll never get the image of those words spilled across blood out of his mind.)

At least she doesn't disagree, and for that he's thankful, but he can feel this sort of wall come up around Ciri... as if she's trying to hold all the parts of herself up.] I know you know this already, but don't take it personally. What he said.

[They both know why. To protect her. And because Geralt was realistic: if either of them were to go after him, Ciri would have the most success. If they knew where to go.

He picks up Geralt's sword, wiping sand and blood from it onto his trousers. (Might as well. They're already ruined.) He peers around for its scabbard, letting his eyes neatly scan across the bodies as if they aren't there. It's easier that way.

Ah. Next to the. Arm. Not thinking it. He slides the sword into its scabbard, offering it to Ciri.] Here.

[If he doesn't take a break from this, he might actually get a little sick. An opportunity for blood-free air is. A good idea right now.] I'm going to go find the bloody horses. Lucky us. Still have the berries.

[Which will definitely be used to bait them into coming back. For once, he misses Roach's unflappable personality when it comes to violence.]