[While Jaskier would have relied entirely on sending one of those convenient mental letters, after Geralt's recent experiences and his added warnings, he decides it's best he not reach out quite yet. It's a bit different with someone closer, someone in Cadens. For an innocent question, or a prod at Ciri to bring a bit of salt home.
This is. Different. Much.
Geralt was, of course, sparse on the details. He drops it like a horse dumps droppings during a ride; rude, and inconsiderately, with no further conversation. The attitude of it was there, it happened, now it's over... as if they were ever enough.
And so here Jaskier is, walking through the fields he'd once helped to save from fire, with a cloak around his shoulders (as ever, emblazoned with The Sun), but in much more muted colors than usual. He goes towards the sheep who had endeared themselves to him so quickly, kneeling down as they crowd closer to offer a pale, soft pierogi -- filled with only onions, thank you, because he isn't a monster.] Here you are, my dearies. Yes, yes, take your fill! There's plenty. Say, have you seen that winged master of yours of late? Surely he's skulking about?
[In case Estinien is not, or he cannot sense a wandering soul in his domain, he sends out a message. Here, it does feel safer. The message, after all, comes in the form of a bird, colorful and bright with its chirps. As it flies up to look for Estinien, he realizes it flies past its fellows -- birds Jaskier had left here ages ago. Long enough he only imagined they would be gone.]
Post-Dimmest Day at some point... later December?
This is. Different. Much.
Geralt was, of course, sparse on the details. He drops it like a horse dumps droppings during a ride; rude, and inconsiderately, with no further conversation. The attitude of it was there, it happened, now it's over... as if they were ever enough.
And so here Jaskier is, walking through the fields he'd once helped to save from fire, with a cloak around his shoulders (as ever, emblazoned with The Sun), but in much more muted colors than usual. He goes towards the sheep who had endeared themselves to him so quickly, kneeling down as they crowd closer to offer a pale, soft pierogi -- filled with only onions, thank you, because he isn't a monster.] Here you are, my dearies. Yes, yes, take your fill! There's plenty. Say, have you seen that winged master of yours of late? Surely he's skulking about?
[In case Estinien is not, or he cannot sense a wandering soul in his domain, he sends out a message. Here, it does feel safer. The message, after all, comes in the form of a bird, colorful and bright with its chirps. As it flies up to look for Estinien, he realizes it flies past its fellows -- birds Jaskier had left here ages ago. Long enough he only imagined they would be gone.]