Geralt took all this surprisingly well, his irritability faded quite quickly, nearly as quickly as he'd left off pinning Jaskier to the mattress. He relaxed and sighed and Jaskier had a moment to collect himself. This hadn't been a conversation he'd ever intended to have with the Witcher and, thankfully, Geralt looked to be sparing him the indignity of it.
He took a deep breath, ready to get up and fetch his pack, but a touch at his elbow stopped him--he waited but Geralt didn't say anything, not until he turned and looked him in the face. His heart could have stopped dead with how tender the look on the Witcher's face was. He certainly found himself holding his breath as he held that gaze. He was sure he looked a wreck, then, but there was nothing for it.
The reminder fell heavy between them and Jaskier had no idea what to say--fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how one viewed tender admissions or the sanctity of fountains, there was a commotion going on outside. Geralt, as though he'd remembered he left his stove on, jerked upright and away as he moved to the window. Jaskier watched him, dazed, and heart a high whinny of delight and a great deal of splashing outside.
Kelpie?
"Cantata?"
A moment later, Jaskier was scrambling up and dashing to meet him, crowding the window with the Witcher. There were a dozen people in the square--only about four seemed eager to put a stop to the goings on, the other eight or so were content to point and jeer. (Except for a couple of children who seemed entirely enchanted by the sight.)
Cantata, in all his golden glory, had somehow gotten out of his stall, escaped the stables altogether, and had pranced right into the center of the square. It was a hot day, to be sure, but the stables hadn't been unpleasant? Still, the golden horse had clearly decided the carved marble fountain was a far cry better than simple shade and delighted both in the full sunshine and the arcs of cold water that sprayed up from the carved spouts. It jumped through the basin, happy to splish and splash, and ducked its head under the water whenever it neared any that was tumbling downward.
"How in the world?" Jaskier asked, dazed, and tried to recall--he'd shut the stall, he knew he had. He always did, didn't he?
no subject
He took a deep breath, ready to get up and fetch his pack, but a touch at his elbow stopped him--he waited but Geralt didn't say anything, not until he turned and looked him in the face. His heart could have stopped dead with how tender the look on the Witcher's face was. He certainly found himself holding his breath as he held that gaze. He was sure he looked a wreck, then, but there was nothing for it.
The reminder fell heavy between them and Jaskier had no idea what to say--fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how one viewed tender admissions or the sanctity of fountains, there was a commotion going on outside. Geralt, as though he'd remembered he left his stove on, jerked upright and away as he moved to the window. Jaskier watched him, dazed, and heart a high whinny of delight and a great deal of splashing outside.
Kelpie?
"Cantata?"
A moment later, Jaskier was scrambling up and dashing to meet him, crowding the window with the Witcher. There were a dozen people in the square--only about four seemed eager to put a stop to the goings on, the other eight or so were content to point and jeer. (Except for a couple of children who seemed entirely enchanted by the sight.)
Cantata, in all his golden glory, had somehow gotten out of his stall, escaped the stables altogether, and had pranced right into the center of the square. It was a hot day, to be sure, but the stables hadn't been unpleasant? Still, the golden horse had clearly decided the carved marble fountain was a far cry better than simple shade and delighted both in the full sunshine and the arcs of cold water that sprayed up from the carved spouts. It jumped through the basin, happy to splish and splash, and ducked its head under the water whenever it neared any that was tumbling downward.
"How in the world?" Jaskier asked, dazed, and tried to recall--he'd shut the stall, he knew he had. He always did, didn't he?