Geralt of Rivia was laying on his back on his bedroll, as usual, he was not able to sleep. Roach had become quite comfortable herself during their rest and the white haired Witcher looked at her with jealousy.
"What's your secret Roach?" He wondered, once again talking to his horse. Roach only snorted at him in response, almost as if she was annoyed at him for disturbing her. "Fine, keep it to yourself."
Geralt had just completed a contract he had accepted to wipe out a nest of Bruxae who had been picking off the men from a small hamlet in Redania. After receiving his promised coin for his efforts the Witcher didn't waste any time getting back on the road. Where he was heading wasn't something he had officially decided on yet, but he was sure he'd run into something interesting eventually. He hadn't seen his old traveling companion Jaskier, or the poet Dandelion depending on who you're talking to, for quite awhile. Maybe they will be pushed to cross paths again for another adventure. At least that's what Jaskier was always calling the travels and contracts they did together.
Geralt himself believes he's never been on an "adventure" before in his life. Adventure insinuates some kind of fantastical positivity that walking miles and miles across the Continent constantly facing certain death doesn't line up with. Jaskier says Geralt is just a cynic with trust issues and that's why he looks at it that way. Geralt has never argued with him about that observation as it wasn't necessarily wrong. The part about trust issues could be something he'd debate if he thought it was worth his breath, but usually those kinds of conversations with Jaskier are not. Indulging him would only lead to a long winded monologue by the poet about the blessings of optimism and letting people in. About how Jaskier would have never met his "best friend" Geralt if he had looked at the world the Witcher's way.
Even though Geralt was deep in the ramblings of his own thoughts his heightened senses couldn't miss the disruption in the air. His medallion buzzed ever so slightly against his chest indicating there was some kind of magic nearby. Magic was not something Geralt enjoyed encountering, especially in the middle of the night in the deep woods far away from any village. Even though the Witcher had intended to rest and possibly sleep for the rest of the night he had yet to remove his armor. The silver studs adorning the black leather glinted in the moonlight as he stood.
Just as he had reached his full somewhat imposing height, the medallion stilled; the magic was gone. But there was still something bothering the Witcher, it didn't seem right. Geralt closed his eyes and focused intently on his surroundings; he picked up 4 different heartbeats. 3 of them he could tell easily were animals, wolves to be exact, the third was unsure. He could tell it was some kind of humanoid but the heart rate was erratic. Scared. Whoever it was, was close enough he could get there within just a few minutes. Making sure he had both swords in their scabbards on his back, he set off towards the rapidly beating heart.