Geralt was sure that whoever had told Jaskier to use wormwood and willow bark were only doing their best. Recipes varied by person and region and there were some cases in which he'd actually expanded his own stocks and recipes by talking to the women in the villages he'd passed through. Not always, but there had been times. "I prefer beeswax," Geralt said. "It's purer and doesn't smell. But tallow is fine." And, again, plentiful-- and no one needed deal with a beehive and it's lively inhabitants. Because so many plants served similar purposes, Herbology was at its best when the knowledge base of the practitioner as wide as it was deep.

Certainly they weren't going to get through it all in a day. When Jaskier started going on about the possibilities of his lotion line, Geralt's posture began to sag. By the time he'd fetched his songbook (which makes a subtle mark on the Witcher's backbrain, his songbook) eyes are only open when he himself was talking. "Just remember what you can for now," Geralt finally said, his head giving up the fight and turning to let the nearest pillow catch its weight, "there's time." Thanks to Jaskier. For the moment the lingering pain was all secondary to his full stomach and the heaviness of his body.

"Jaskier," he mumbled, "no wormwood on stitches. It's an aphrodisiac." Apparently it would be his final word on the subject; he was asleep.