The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Twenty-Two

Kestrel Mountains, 1240

"Is this all you do?" Jaskier inquired. "Travel in a circle? It's been almost a year and we're practically back where we started."

Geralt shrugged. "I go where the work is, Jaskier. That's the job. That's the life."

"And it hasn't been a circle," Robin pointed out. "We've zigged and zagged a bit."

She watched as Jaskier mended a tear in one of his doublets, his hand steady with the needle and thread.

"You know I could do that for you, Jas. I'm very proficient in household magic," she reminded him begrudgingly.

She rather wished her skills inclined in other directions. She was working on it, but it still wasn't fast enough for her.

"I prefer the hand stitch," Jaskier admitted. "But thank you, dear sister. Perhaps you could conjure your witcher some new clothes. He's becoming quite ragged."

He glanced to where Geralt was standing by Roach, brushing her mane out and buffing her coat for the evening.

"I can't conjure clothes out of nothing, Jaskier," Robin explained. "That's not how magic works."

"Yes, the rules are quite confusing," he admitted, glancing up at Geralt. "I've never asked before," he mused, "but how old is Roach? Certainly not as old as you. I'm still mad that you won't give me an exact number, by the way. Unless they make horses witchers too?"

"No," Geralt replied simply. "I've had many horses over the years. I always name them Roach."

"No imagination. Got it," Jaskier answered, tugging the thread through the fabric again.

Geralt rolled his eyes and Robin smiled, turning the three rabbits Geralt had caught them over the fire. She had carrots and turnips diced and roasting in a pan in some embers, and bread and cheese as well.

"That smells good," Geralt told her, coming to sit beside her.

There was a chill coming off the mountains, and Geralt put his cloak over her shoulders. Even though she had her own, his was larger and warmer, and he knew that she liked that it smelled like him.

She snuggled into it and continued to tend to dinner. Jaskier finished his doublet and rose, setting it aside as he went to feed and water both Roach and Cricket.

Geralt retrieved a sharpening stone and held his hand out for Robin's dagger. She gave it to him as she turned the spit again.

It was the well-tuned rhythm of three people who had become genuinely comfortable with each other, and would yet grow more comfortable still.