A bit like onion, yes, and also a bit like blood. Geralt had had to kill more than a few men to get to Jaskier, and that kind of thing is never a clean business. The combination is probably not a pleasant one, but he had been more concerned with getting Jaskier cleaned up than he was about himself. And before that--

Well. He'd never kept the oils with him, and Jaskier's the one who knows the ratios and which scents can be combined into something that wouldn't irritate his nose. And if Geralt tried to approximate it and didn't get it right, then he wouldn't smell right and it would undoubtedly put him into a foul mood. So... onions and horse it is, and everyone can just live with it.

Jaskier is tucked up against Geralt's side, a long line of warmth against him, and that's... normal. He pushes bread and cheese into his hands-- less normal-- but he's taken the pottage for himself, so the witcher is satisfied that he'll be well fed.

"Kaer Morhen. It's too early in the year for any of the other witchers to be back yet, but Vesemir never leaves. He's watching over her." Geralt rips off a piece of the bread and some of the cheese. "My old fencing teacher."

The closest thing, really, that Geralt has to a father.

"The trail up to the keep will be impassible after the first snow, so it will be the safest place to train her until the thaw. I'll have to be on my way by mid-autumn, or I won't be able to make it back."

And that threshold of no return is fast approaching. With Jaskier or without, Geralt will have to make it through Morhen Valley before the snows.