Geralt gives a shrug back. He's not one to keep track of Dean's flying lessons. Sam's flying, Dean's flying, Jaskier's a damn bird; apparently everyone has found their wings these days.
"Mm-hm." Claws. Like he's confirming he has five fingers on each hand.
He glances behind Nero, as if noticing for the first time the man hasn't got his tail in the Horizon. Interesting. Something about this reminds him of when they all survived the Trials, and he remembers Lambert grabbing him one day—some weeks later, out in the stables—and going, Your hair's grown fucking white. And it certainly fucking had.
He passes off the remainder of his liquid chips to Nero. Doesn't remark on the tail or the arm. If they took stock of everything unusual between them, they'd be here until spring.
no subject
"Mm-hm." Claws. Like he's confirming he has five fingers on each hand.
He glances behind Nero, as if noticing for the first time the man hasn't got his tail in the Horizon. Interesting. Something about this reminds him of when they all survived the Trials, and he remembers Lambert grabbing him one day—some weeks later, out in the stables—and going, Your hair's grown fucking white. And it certainly fucking had.
He passes off the remainder of his liquid chips to Nero. Doesn't remark on the tail or the arm. If they took stock of everything unusual between them, they'd be here until spring.