[ Jaskier collapses so suddenly, panic seizes Geralt's chest tight. He clutches Jaskier's shoulder even as he knows, even as he understands, that he is the cause. It's not happened since Jo, but he knows. He knows because he can feel it now, filling his lungs with a rush of pure air that makes his head spin.
He calls Jaskier's name once, twice, three times. The bard does not respond. He cannot see the wounds, the blood, but around him the flowers and berries wilt, crumble, rot, and his veins run hot with life. (These aren't even real fucking plants.) Jaskier cries out and shudders as though he's in the throes of death itself and—
(No.)
When Jaskier finally comes to, Geralt is bent over him, gripping his arm so hard it must be bruising. Genuine fear is etched across his face: eyes wide, knuckles white, his entire body tense. It consumes him so abruptly, so fully, that he can't swallow it down, can't think through it. Can't remind himself they're in the Horizon, that it isn't possible to die inside this place.
Fuck. Fuck. ]
Jaskier! [ He shakes him roughly, desperate. ] Jaskier, wake up please—
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He calls Jaskier's name once, twice, three times. The bard does not respond. He cannot see the wounds, the blood, but around him the flowers and berries wilt, crumble, rot, and his veins run hot with life. (These aren't even real fucking plants.) Jaskier cries out and shudders as though he's in the throes of death itself and—
(No.)
When Jaskier finally comes to, Geralt is bent over him, gripping his arm so hard it must be bruising. Genuine fear is etched across his face: eyes wide, knuckles white, his entire body tense. It consumes him so abruptly, so fully, that he can't swallow it down, can't think through it. Can't remind himself they're in the Horizon, that it isn't possible to die inside this place.
Fuck. Fuck. ]
Jaskier! [ He shakes him roughly, desperate. ] Jaskier, wake up please—