Geralt follows Sam up the stairs. He's made himself at home in Sam's Horizon, but without intruding—generally remains on the lower floor, in the kitchen or the living room when he visits. This is the first time he's stepped into Sam's bedroom. His gaze roams over it, taking in what he sees: the framed images, the bed, the worn but well-kept edges of it. It's entirely the opposite of Geralt's room, with its rotted floorboards and musty furs. Though like Sam, he has found a place for keepsakes from this world, gifts and memories tucked in drawers.
He looks back at Sam. His arms fold across his chest, one shoulder leaned against the wall. ]
I found something. Deep out. Bones, but—not of anything I've seen before. [ He pauses. ] Someone disposed them there. They weren't meant to be found.
[ At least, not meant to be found by anyone who would care. He can't imagine bandits giving a shit if they came across some unusual bones, other than to search for loot. Few wander this far. Not even most hunters. Not even he does, until now. His instinct is to follow the trail, see where it leads. Once, he wouldn't have hesitated. Here, it's different. He can't simply ride from one town to the next, leaving behind those who'd rather have his head. As much as he'd prefer not to give a fuck about what city officials think of him, he can't afford to attract the wrong kind of attention. Not when Ciri and Jaskier and others are undeniably connected to him.
But something tells him this is important. Maybe—hell, maybe he simply wants to know if Sam feels the same. That this isn't something they can just leave alone. ]
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Geralt follows Sam up the stairs. He's made himself at home in Sam's Horizon, but without intruding—generally remains on the lower floor, in the kitchen or the living room when he visits. This is the first time he's stepped into Sam's bedroom. His gaze roams over it, taking in what he sees: the framed images, the bed, the worn but well-kept edges of it. It's entirely the opposite of Geralt's room, with its rotted floorboards and musty furs. Though like Sam, he has found a place for keepsakes from this world, gifts and memories tucked in drawers.
He looks back at Sam. His arms fold across his chest, one shoulder leaned against the wall. ]
I found something. Deep out. Bones, but—not of anything I've seen before. [ He pauses. ] Someone disposed them there. They weren't meant to be found.
[ At least, not meant to be found by anyone who would care. He can't imagine bandits giving a shit if they came across some unusual bones, other than to search for loot. Few wander this far. Not even most hunters. Not even he does, until now. His instinct is to follow the trail, see where it leads. Once, he wouldn't have hesitated. Here, it's different. He can't simply ride from one town to the next, leaving behind those who'd rather have his head. As much as he'd prefer not to give a fuck about what city officials think of him, he can't afford to attract the wrong kind of attention. Not when Ciri and Jaskier and others are undeniably connected to him.
But something tells him this is important. Maybe—hell, maybe he simply wants to know if Sam feels the same. That this isn't something they can just leave alone. ]