[ Sam seems lost in thought, so Geralt decides against interrupting. If we come back at all needn't be said aloud. He can't imagine it not being on anyone's mind. Even if he manages to leave the prison, what then? Something tells him Ambrose's spell wasn't created to be reversed. It's one thing to open a single door to pull people into one singular world. It's another to open dozens of extremely specific doors into a multitude of worlds.
The silence is not uncomfortable. Geralt lets it linger. Funny, that he's found such quick companionship in Sam but—in a way, it's difficult not to. With just how the man is. Or maybe Geralt simply needs this kind of company, more than he'd ever admit. The kind where he hasn't got to say much to be understood.
It isn't until Sam mentions Roach that Geralt turns his head. He raises an eyebrow. What. His horse? Yeah. Sam had met her. In the Horizon, walking up to his cabin, Roach had been there grazing in her stable. Even without conscious memories, he'd created Roach as the chestnut mare she'd always been. Missing the stripe down her face, though. She'd had a star instead.
He gives a small huff, and the corner of his lips quirk upward for a moment. ] Not much to tell. [ The way he says it suggests there's a lot he wants to tell. In truth, as small and inconsequential as it is—she's only a horse and one he's meant to outlive at that, just like all the mares before her—being in the Horizon, riding her: it reminds him of one more thing he no longer has. One more thing he misses. ] She's taken me far. [ He makes a vague gesture with his hand that's akin to a shrug. He's fond of her—that much comes across. ] Ask me another time.
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The silence is not uncomfortable. Geralt lets it linger. Funny, that he's found such quick companionship in Sam but—in a way, it's difficult not to. With just how the man is. Or maybe Geralt simply needs this kind of company, more than he'd ever admit. The kind where he hasn't got to say much to be understood.
It isn't until Sam mentions Roach that Geralt turns his head. He raises an eyebrow. What. His horse? Yeah. Sam had met her. In the Horizon, walking up to his cabin, Roach had been there grazing in her stable. Even without conscious memories, he'd created Roach as the chestnut mare she'd always been. Missing the stripe down her face, though. She'd had a star instead.
He gives a small huff, and the corner of his lips quirk upward for a moment. ] Not much to tell. [ The way he says it suggests there's a lot he wants to tell. In truth, as small and inconsequential as it is—she's only a horse and one he's meant to outlive at that, just like all the mares before her—being in the Horizon, riding her: it reminds him of one more thing he no longer has. One more thing he misses. ] She's taken me far. [ He makes a vague gesture with his hand that's akin to a shrug. He's fond of her—that much comes across. ] Ask me another time.