There was something nice in listening to Gertalt eat--it was mostly the part where th Withcher wasnt insensate and comatose. Jaskier ate much slower and much less and settled I to bread while the man above him had another bit of fish. He chatted, idly talked about a myriad of unimportant things--the name of the innkeeper's wife, that she was probably cleaning more sheets, the name of the boy and his story about finding that heat, the way his friends had roared with awe and delight--he had barely got through his bread when Geralt demanded water.

Geralt downed a pitcher nearly and Jaskier snorted.

"What? No, that's ridiculous," Jaskier objected to all Geralt's statements at once. He shook his head and reached behind himself to blindly grab for a piece of bacon. He managed it after some fuss.

"That boy strolled right in here last night and that woman helped me toss you onto that awful table," he said, as though either fact helped his case at all. "They're surprised, is all--why so much recovery would take a normal person weeks. They were just clearly ready for the long haul. They'll be elated when they see you up and about."

He twisted in place, then, and cast a look back at Geralt.

"You are welcome, by the way--" he said a bit haughtily and gestured at the Witcher as a whole. "--I stopped counting before I finished," he lied, because he absolutely had not, "but that's better than a hundred. You are a sight my friend."

Not including the ones he had added after the bath, it was four hundred and fifty seven.