"Geralt--" Jaskier started as the Witcher snapped his hand back, his face a storm of fury and disbelief.
"I'm so sorry--there wasn't any time!" Jaskier defended and whipped back, standing up and thrusting his wet hands forward in the process. His posture was all surrender. "I had you on one side, and you were bleeding everywhere, and Roach was all but nipping at me, and you weren't really breathing, and I had to get you on the horse and back here--the head was mocking me, I swear, it might even still be there, the awful thing!
"The sword--it--you almost drove it into the dirt when it fell, it sounded like you even bent it--I can't recall, honestly I wasn't looking at the sword, not at all--I forgot it until this very moment! It--uh--maybe it is--not gone? I can go see--I swear I will go the moment we're done, Geralt!"
Jaskier, for all his reported skill with wordsmithing, babbled like an idiot when panic gripped him. He spoke a hundred words a minute, tried to speak them all at once, desperate to explain. They both knew that sword wouldn't be there--the thing was solid silver. Even drenched in blood and bent (even broken) it was worth more than any other single thing they carried.
Oh--wait, maybe it wasn't.
Jaskier kept that realization behind his teeth, somehow, and just stared helplessly at Geralt before him.
"We can replace it! We can head to Novigrad or Oxenfurt and find a good smith!"
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"I'm so sorry--there wasn't any time!" Jaskier defended and whipped back, standing up and thrusting his wet hands forward in the process. His posture was all surrender. "I had you on one side, and you were bleeding everywhere, and Roach was all but nipping at me, and you weren't really breathing, and I had to get you on the horse and back here--the head was mocking me, I swear, it might even still be there, the awful thing!
"The sword--it--you almost drove it into the dirt when it fell, it sounded like you even bent it--I can't recall, honestly I wasn't looking at the sword, not at all--I forgot it until this very moment! It--uh--maybe it is--not gone? I can go see--I swear I will go the moment we're done, Geralt!"
Jaskier, for all his reported skill with wordsmithing, babbled like an idiot when panic gripped him. He spoke a hundred words a minute, tried to speak them all at once, desperate to explain. They both knew that sword wouldn't be there--the thing was solid silver. Even drenched in blood and bent (even broken) it was worth more than any other single thing they carried.
Oh--wait, maybe it wasn't.
Jaskier kept that realization behind his teeth, somehow, and just stared helplessly at Geralt before him.
"We can replace it! We can head to Novigrad or Oxenfurt and find a good smith!"