[Hm. He doesn't argue. He's not likely to make this situation... any less than the situation it is, honestly.
He gives Ciri a wave as he walks off, finally allowing his face to make whatever expression it needs to. To. Process this. The bodies, their further clues, or lack thereof. Geralt had been here. This was clearly his camp. There had been blood here before he left. No. Not left. Someone had to have dragged him off. Unconscious? But he was conscious now... or he had been when he sent that message.
Fuck. Fuck. He'd already gotten his scream out, but another might do him good. Twenty fucking years and he's never had to worry after Geralt (all right, the once, maybe, when he was in a house that collapsed.) This was. Different. After everything they'd been through -- all of the impossible things.
And now he worries about Ciri. Is she going to go? Oh, fuck. Should he have left her alone? No, no. It's fine. She can't go far without the horses.
Which... ah! There they are. Jaskier clicks his tongue gently at them, calling their names as he holds out a handful of the berries (neither squished nor rotted by their riding or over time.) They're skittish and Ciri's gelding is certainly spooked, but responds both to the free offerings of food and soothing pets down his mane.
By the time Jaskier returns with both horses' reins in his hand, he looks somehow even more exhausted. He'd spent the whole time with his mind shooting from one thought to the next, taking in everything. Replaying it in his head.
And he'd stopped on the fact that there had been a moment where Jaskier was so entirely sure he would not make it. Ciri had been too far. And then... she suddenly wasn't.]
Hey. I found them. As you can see. [He licks his lips. This is not really a topic he wants to broach, but it feels rather. Important.
When they're on the move. That's when.] Did you find anything else?
no subject
He gives Ciri a wave as he walks off, finally allowing his face to make whatever expression it needs to. To. Process this. The bodies, their further clues, or lack thereof. Geralt had been here. This was clearly his camp. There had been blood here before he left. No. Not left. Someone had to have dragged him off. Unconscious? But he was conscious now... or he had been when he sent that message.
Fuck. Fuck. He'd already gotten his scream out, but another might do him good. Twenty fucking years and he's never had to worry after Geralt (all right, the once, maybe, when he was in a house that collapsed.) This was. Different. After everything they'd been through -- all of the impossible things.
And now he worries about Ciri. Is she going to go? Oh, fuck. Should he have left her alone? No, no. It's fine. She can't go far without the horses.
Which... ah! There they are. Jaskier clicks his tongue gently at them, calling their names as he holds out a handful of the berries (neither squished nor rotted by their riding or over time.) They're skittish and Ciri's gelding is certainly spooked, but responds both to the free offerings of food and soothing pets down his mane.
By the time Jaskier returns with both horses' reins in his hand, he looks somehow even more exhausted. He'd spent the whole time with his mind shooting from one thought to the next, taking in everything. Replaying it in his head.
And he'd stopped on the fact that there had been a moment where Jaskier was so entirely sure he would not make it. Ciri had been too far. And then... she suddenly wasn't.]
Hey. I found them. As you can see. [He licks his lips. This is not really a topic he wants to broach, but it feels rather. Important.
When they're on the move. That's when.] Did you find anything else?