Jaskier gets out of his lap and Geralt watches him carefully for any sign of pain or discomfort when he moves. It seems about as the bard had said-- a little sore, a little tentative when he starts to bear weight on his legs, but otherwise steady. A few more days of rest and steady meals and he ought to be well enough to travel on Roach.

There is the matter of coin, of course-- Geralt would be able to make the trip to the keep after resupplying basic necessities, but Jaskier will require more. He'll need sturdy winter clothes, new boots, a heavier bedroll. At least two pairs of gloves, preferably lined with rabbit fur for warmth. Another cloak, because even if he's enamored with Geralt's right now, he'll need one with a better lining. Add onto all of that the cost of another horse and the additional food and water they'll have to carry for another man, and it adds up quickly. It's certainly more than Geralt has on-hand.

"Oxenfurt."

He doesn't usually stop there for hunts, mostly because it's a well-protected city that rarely has much work for him outside of drowners. Not particularly lucrative. And he'd given it a particularly wide berth in the past year, since it's a favorite haunt for Jaskier and he was fairly certain that his welcome would be far chillier.

And the whole place is full of students. Students who are all painfully, vociferously familiar with the tales of the White Wolf.

"You'll be in such high demand? Unless we're lucky, I won't be able to find any high paying contracts there, and I don't have the coin to cover your supplies now."

There's a wry twist to his lips. "That's assuming that all of your colleagues aren't going to run me out of town."