Either way, it didn't matter. They were trying to find Jaskier-- and they'd certainly take Geralt, too, if they could get him-- and drag him right back into the waiting arms of an interrogator. The lack of information from them, hopefully, will slow their enemies down.
But it's still a race against time, and they can't tarry. Their only safe harbor is Kaer Morhen, and they must reach it before the snows bury everything until spring. The pace that he sets is brutal-- they only stop to feed and water the horses, and when it's too dark for Jaskier or the horses to see, Geralt gets off and leads them on foot, following him single file. He allows Jaskier a few hours of sleep each night, because the bard would never survive without it, but Geralt does not sleep, doesn't even meditate. His mind's too restless for it, preoccupied with thoughts of Nilfgaard and Ciri and the scars on Jaskier's back. His swords are always close to hand.
When they reach the hunting cabin, the snow is coming down, but Geralt can't force them to continue through the night again. Too dangerous, both because of the difficult terrain and because it gets cold enough at night that the horses and Jaskier may not be able to handle it. He can't risk one of the horses getting a lung bleed. He definitely can't risk Jaskier getting hypothermia.
There aren't any tracks around the cabin; a good sign that it hasn't been disturbed. They stable the horses and Geralt enters the lodgings first, to make sure that nothing is waiting inside.
"It's clear."
It's not a large cabin, but it's still stocked; there's firewood and a hearth, beds with blankets and furs. Some provisions in the cupboards, long-lasting things like flour, jerky, and pickles, a few root vegetables that still look relatively fresh because of the cold temperatures. Geralt throws a few logs into the fireplace and lights them with igni, setting them ablaze. He drags some of the blankets and furs off of the bed, pulling them in front of the fire to warm up.
no subject
Either way, it didn't matter. They were trying to find Jaskier-- and they'd certainly take Geralt, too, if they could get him-- and drag him right back into the waiting arms of an interrogator. The lack of information from them, hopefully, will slow their enemies down.
But it's still a race against time, and they can't tarry. Their only safe harbor is Kaer Morhen, and they must reach it before the snows bury everything until spring. The pace that he sets is brutal-- they only stop to feed and water the horses, and when it's too dark for Jaskier or the horses to see, Geralt gets off and leads them on foot, following him single file. He allows Jaskier a few hours of sleep each night, because the bard would never survive without it, but Geralt does not sleep, doesn't even meditate. His mind's too restless for it, preoccupied with thoughts of Nilfgaard and Ciri and the scars on Jaskier's back. His swords are always close to hand.
When they reach the hunting cabin, the snow is coming down, but Geralt can't force them to continue through the night again. Too dangerous, both because of the difficult terrain and because it gets cold enough at night that the horses and Jaskier may not be able to handle it. He can't risk one of the horses getting a lung bleed. He definitely can't risk Jaskier getting hypothermia.
There aren't any tracks around the cabin; a good sign that it hasn't been disturbed. They stable the horses and Geralt enters the lodgings first, to make sure that nothing is waiting inside.
"It's clear."
It's not a large cabin, but it's still stocked; there's firewood and a hearth, beds with blankets and furs. Some provisions in the cupboards, long-lasting things like flour, jerky, and pickles, a few root vegetables that still look relatively fresh because of the cold temperatures. Geralt throws a few logs into the fireplace and lights them with igni, setting them ablaze. He drags some of the blankets and furs off of the bed, pulling them in front of the fire to warm up.
"Get in, warm up."