[ What hollow rests between them, inside them, Geralt makes no comment. He doesn't ask, because he never does. Sam always tells him when he's ready, what he's got on his mind, and Geralt's the sort who prefers to let things come in their own time. At least when there's no crisis riding upon any of it. Currently, there is not. It's just them, here. Building and rebuilding their lives.
He takes the mug when it's handed over. Tips it in Sam's direction. ] New roads.
[ New roads, old roots regrown. Still feels strange. A place. The bookshop beneath is quiet, unlike the noisy tavern they were once roomed above. There's a proper kitchen now alongside two sectioned off beds that function well enough as rooms. A small loft atop a short set of stairs that Rinwell has taken. He isn't sure what to think. Maybe that's half the reason he's been doing...this. Art projects, as Sam calls them.
He looks over. ] So how many did you run around herding when the sun went out?
no subject
He takes the mug when it's handed over. Tips it in Sam's direction. ] New roads.
[ New roads, old roots regrown. Still feels strange. A place. The bookshop beneath is quiet, unlike the noisy tavern they were once roomed above. There's a proper kitchen now alongside two sectioned off beds that function well enough as rooms. A small loft atop a short set of stairs that Rinwell has taken. He isn't sure what to think. Maybe that's half the reason he's been doing...this. Art projects, as Sam calls them.
He looks over. ] So how many did you run around herding when the sun went out?