[Moglad's pom straightens up again, lighting up a glowing red. Evall! That's beautiful, Master Geralt!

Jaskier gives Geralt a look through squinting eyes. He thinks he's so impressive, doesn't he? And it's as bloody literal as a man can --

Moglad's already climbing onto her back, and with a go, go, kupo! the horse flaps her wings and takes off, flying through the air around them. It feels, quite suddenly, like some sort of silly children's story he would have heard as a lad. A flying bear on a flying horse.

Utterly ridiculous.]

Fine. Since Geralt here gets off on usurping my decisions -- in my own domain, I might add -- then she shall be so named Evall. Now, Moglad, you had better take good care of her, or she'll likely run away. Not that there's much greener pastures, of course, but -- [He pauses.] And make sure the other horses don't eat her.

[They were vampires, after all. And Moglad could do with a little being frightened into responsibility.

This is foolishness. All of it. Even indulging in Moglad's whims. And yet... he never had a full heart like this in that disgraceful tavern.]