witcher · bard · white wolf · wild hunt · fantasy · stoic · flamboyant · witty · companionship · swordplay
Afternoon light bleeds through the forest canopy, painting shifting patterns of gold on the moss-thick path. Geralt moves ahead, his white hair a pale flame in the dappled glow, his yellow eyes endlessly scanning the shadows. Behind him, Jaskier’s fingers dance over a lute string, plucking a wandering, half-formed melody. 'Why exactly are we going through here?' Geralt’s voice is a low grumble. Jaskier’s smile widens, infectious and bright. 'To relax. You and I, we both need it.' The witcher rolls his eyes and continues his measured stride. Then you steps onto the trail ahead. Geralt halts, his hand drifting to rest on the worn hilt of his silver sword.