It had been very mercifully silent (without Jaskier's chatter but even quiet enough in the pub at lunchtime) that Geralt is happily complacent when the bard finally turns up. His stomach is full, the beer is still good, and there is no longer the worry about a horse. (To a point.) When Jaskier enters the room, Geralt knows before he's even looked up from the steak and kidney pie-- he can feel the energy the man throws before him as well as any horse. He washes down the food and leans back to listen.

"We'll be able to move faster," he says, sidestepping the thanks. The prolonged, awkward hug that Jaskier had given him earlier had been more than enough. That he doubted the horse would be all doe eyes and patience he didn't bother to mention. Time would tell and he'd be happy to be wrong on that account. "No doubt we'll be able to bring in a better income for it."