True enough-- Geralt had yet to find a cat that had less than a passing dislike for Witchers, though they seemed to feel particularly strongly about him. Still, it was a byproduct of his mutations, he was sure; Jaskier was simply Jaskier. Well. Perhaps that was enough... for all but one horse, apparently.

"It jumped." There was no hole in the paddocks, no gate even that could have been used. He and Jaskier had boosted over themselves. "That fence is five foot." A decent leap for any horse at a run, but with no space and no momentum? Roach couldn't have done it, nor many other horses Geralt had known in his life time.

From the front of the paddock came the hawking sound of spittle. "Akhal-Teke's the breed of that demon," the wiry man hanging on the boards said, jabbing a finger in the direction of the golden horse. "Comes from the southern continent, does. Fast, too smart by half, pain in my ass ever since it was foaled. Eight-hundred crowns."

Geralt's jaw only stayed hinged through superb force of will. "It's a horse," he managed, "not a dragon."

The rancher laughed in an unpleasantly phlegmy way and shrugged his shoulders before pushing the brim of his straw hat up higher on his brow. The fog had just burned off but the man was already sweating. "Comes from the southern continent," he repeated. "And he ain't been castrated so the price includes his sac, donn'it?" Geralt looked at Jaskier and shook his head. There was absolutely zero reasons to purchase this horse; even had it been on sale as a door stop he would have said no, and now?

"Find another," he said to the bard. There had to be a horse here that could tolerate Jaskier's abundant energy other than this one.