[ The silent unease permeates the air, thick and heavy. Geralt glances over once, twice, but he rides silent for a minute or so. Then: ]
Want to tell me what happened?
[ Can Dean tell him what happened? Does he know? Truth be told, Geralt isn't certain what to make of it, either. It's Dean, but it isn't. That's where the problem lies. Today, they left behind four dead men of no consequence. What about tomorrow? He will not pretend he's made a principled judgement, that his reasons for having yet intervened are anything except personal. The deaths of a few bandits weigh little on him. Dean means more. That's what it comes down to.
Still. He has to ask himself where he'll draw the line, how long he'll let it spiral, before he does something.
no subject
Want to tell me what happened?
[ Can Dean tell him what happened? Does he know? Truth be told, Geralt isn't certain what to make of it, either. It's Dean, but it isn't. That's where the problem lies. Today, they left behind four dead men of no consequence. What about tomorrow? He will not pretend he's made a principled judgement, that his reasons for having yet intervened are anything except personal. The deaths of a few bandits weigh little on him. Dean means more. That's what it comes down to.
Still. He has to ask himself where he'll draw the line, how long he'll let it spiral, before he does something.
Maybe he can't know until it happens. ]