"Oh, you know how it is--hounds dislike some people, cats others, horses just tend to dislike me for some reason," Jaskier told him, absently, and pouted as he approached the be-speckled mare. She looked like a sweet thing but, just as the rest of the horses in this paddock had, the moment he plucked out a few chords, her ears went back and she nickered and stomped off. Jaskier let his hand fall to the belly of his lute with an audible, percussive thump. Another horse moved off in the opposite direction as he did.

"Is it tempo? Timbre?" Jaskier asked, largely to himself, as his gaze tracked the herd toward the other end of the fences. He was still ruminating when Geralt called his name and drew him out of his thoughts.

"Hmm?" Jaskier started and then, as he spied that glimmering gold, let out a small delighted gasp. "Oh! Another?"

Was this a popular breed? When had this happened?

Jaskier started toward the gold horse with eager speed and, halfway to it, realized that it was shockingly similar to the last one. So shockingly similar that there was, in fact, no way that it was not the very same horse. His awe shifted to playful scolding then, but the skip in his step didn't abate.

The gold horse peered at him, unashamed, and shuffled closer as he came alongside it--it was a terrible, childish habit, reaching out whilst approaching a horse, but he'd grown accustomed to doing it to Roach as he walked next to her for miles on end. Usually Geralt would stop him with a gruff reprimand--Don't Touch Roach--but there were times he didn't and Roach would simply huff at his touch. The fact that this horse didn't snap or startle as he combed absently through its mane made him smile.

"Clever little fellow," Jaskier reprimanded in delighted singsong. "How did you get out, hm?"