"Hm," Geralt says in reply, as though that answers anything. It's a guess, mostly, but an educated one-- he thinks he remembers the melody from music that he'd heard Ciri playing in her room before, and it doesn't sound like the unbearably repetitive Top 40 radio music. What really tips him off, though, is the familiarity that Jaskier has with it, the ease with which he sings it. He knows the song inside and out.
It isn't important, though, because Jaskier is enthralled by the field of flowers that stretches out in front of them. He quotes something that's probably poetry-- he seems like the type-- and identifies one of the many kinds of flowers that are blossoming near the path. Buttercups, bursting from the earth in clusters of brilliant yellow. The musician stops Pegasus at the side of the path and dismounts, and Geralt gives a gentle tug on the reins to stop Roach, too. Can't leave the guy behind.
He watches with bemusement as Jaskier picks buttercups and sticks one of them behind his ear, saving the other ones for braiding into Pegasus' long mane. He's surprisingly efficient at braiding, and it doesn't take him long at all to start weaving the flowers into the horse's hair.
"Should be fine," he says. "Horses don't usually eat buttercups. Tastes bad."
Which is good, because they're poisonous, too. Only horses in overgrazed pasture with nothing else to eat would resort to eating buttercups. The point of this trail ride isn't really for Jaskier to get off of the damn horse and braid his hair like they're middle school girls at a sleepover, but Jaskier's also paying for this time. So if he wants to spend his hard-earned YouTube money on standing around in a meadow, picking buttercups, that's his prerogative. It's all the same to Geralt.
no subject
It isn't important, though, because Jaskier is enthralled by the field of flowers that stretches out in front of them. He quotes something that's probably poetry-- he seems like the type-- and identifies one of the many kinds of flowers that are blossoming near the path. Buttercups, bursting from the earth in clusters of brilliant yellow. The musician stops Pegasus at the side of the path and dismounts, and Geralt gives a gentle tug on the reins to stop Roach, too. Can't leave the guy behind.
He watches with bemusement as Jaskier picks buttercups and sticks one of them behind his ear, saving the other ones for braiding into Pegasus' long mane. He's surprisingly efficient at braiding, and it doesn't take him long at all to start weaving the flowers into the horse's hair.
"Should be fine," he says. "Horses don't usually eat buttercups. Tastes bad."
Which is good, because they're poisonous, too. Only horses in overgrazed pasture with nothing else to eat would resort to eating buttercups. The point of this trail ride isn't really for Jaskier to get off of the damn horse and braid his hair like they're middle school girls at a sleepover, but Jaskier's also paying for this time. So if he wants to spend his hard-earned YouTube money on standing around in a meadow, picking buttercups, that's his prerogative. It's all the same to Geralt.