Geralt left him with the horses and Jaskier, still amazed by the purchase, decided to recount the tale to Roach as he moved into the golden horse's stall and brushed him down. The gold horse was, underneath Jaskier's hands, a fairly tame creature. It was unbothered by his presence, so long as he continued to chatter and coo in soft tones, and was terribly curious about Roach in the next stall over. Roach tolerated his peering but largely ignored him, which was fair, he was a stranger--
It took the bard quite some time to accomplish his task which was, on the whole, not entirely surprising. Currying down the horse was a task that Jaskier delighted in--its hair shone and sparkled so prettily as he brushed it down. Jaskier went beyond, afterward, rubbing down the gold horse's face and legs with a soft towel (and that made it shine brighter, despite how impossible that seemed) until it was a gleaming thing. He caught the stable-hands staring as he combed out its fine and pretty mane, but they scattered when he looked back.
When he went inside for lunch he was hungry, his doublet was dirtied from shuffling around a stable for an hour or so, and he was positively beaming. He found Geralt seated and eating and dropped into the space across from him.
"Cantata," Jaskier told him (he had already declared it to Roach). It was a feminine sounding name but, honestly, why bind horses to silly things like masculine or feminine word forms? The more important bit was the fit and, in Jaskier's not remotely humble opinion, nothing fit better than that. It was a testament to how ethereal the creature was, and how it delighted in music.
"I cannot express how positively alight I am at the idea of riding that lovely horse, and it is such a sweet thing, all doe eyes and patience--thank you, Geralt, thank you so very much!"
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It took the bard quite some time to accomplish his task which was, on the whole, not entirely surprising. Currying down the horse was a task that Jaskier delighted in--its hair shone and sparkled so prettily as he brushed it down. Jaskier went beyond, afterward, rubbing down the gold horse's face and legs with a soft towel (and that made it shine brighter, despite how impossible that seemed) until it was a gleaming thing. He caught the stable-hands staring as he combed out its fine and pretty mane, but they scattered when he looked back.
When he went inside for lunch he was hungry, his doublet was dirtied from shuffling around a stable for an hour or so, and he was positively beaming. He found Geralt seated and eating and dropped into the space across from him.
"Cantata," Jaskier told him (he had already declared it to Roach). It was a feminine sounding name but, honestly, why bind horses to silly things like masculine or feminine word forms? The more important bit was the fit and, in Jaskier's not remotely humble opinion, nothing fit better than that. It was a testament to how ethereal the creature was, and how it delighted in music.
"I cannot express how positively alight I am at the idea of riding that lovely horse, and it is such a sweet thing, all doe eyes and patience--thank you, Geralt, thank you so very much!"