The night is far less oppressive than the tavern had been--the weight of glowering and unfriendly eyes is needling. He had forgotten, honestly, and that was a strange thing. He had traveled with Geralt for so long that, once, he had been entirely used to that sort of reaction. Now it bothered him--or it had.
His lute is slung over his shoulder and, in his spare hand the remainder of their cherry brandy. Yennefer has his small purse but he would have just as soon left it--he had been paid by the King already and sets in taverns were no longer his bread and butter.
They stroll out into the spring breeze, the sweet smell of flowers and fresh grass and snowmelt greet them. It is a wonderful night with a clear sky and cool air and he is tempted to take her other hand and spin her about, to dance in it idly as they walk. The swinging of his arms says as much, but he refrains. The peace between them is nice, comfortable, and he relishes that as much as movement.
He is humming by the time they reach her lodgings, a nonsense song that is half worked out and cheerful. It will be sweet when it has words, but it doesn't and so it is a wordless accompaniment for a fine night filled with fine company and a new, dear friend.
How wonderful to have a new friend--he doesn't even realize as he squeezes her hand and draws her closer, to bump his hip against her and settle her against his side. She is warm and her gown is smooth and delicate and whispers around her legs and his as they meander.
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His lute is slung over his shoulder and, in his spare hand the remainder of their cherry brandy. Yennefer has his small purse but he would have just as soon left it--he had been paid by the King already and sets in taverns were no longer his bread and butter.
They stroll out into the spring breeze, the sweet smell of flowers and fresh grass and snowmelt greet them. It is a wonderful night with a clear sky and cool air and he is tempted to take her other hand and spin her about, to dance in it idly as they walk. The swinging of his arms says as much, but he refrains. The peace between them is nice, comfortable, and he relishes that as much as movement.
He is humming by the time they reach her lodgings, a nonsense song that is half worked out and cheerful. It will be sweet when it has words, but it doesn't and so it is a wordless accompaniment for a fine night filled with fine company and a new, dear friend.
How wonderful to have a new friend--he doesn't even realize as he squeezes her hand and draws her closer, to bump his hip against her and settle her against his side. She is warm and her gown is smooth and delicate and whispers around her legs and his as they meander.