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{ pfsb } Ugly Baby
Jan. 4th, 2022 12:16 pmFrom Roach's back, clopping calmly along the winding roads that lead from Crow's Perch to Kaer Morhen, Skellige seems like a dream... or a nightmare, depending on which part he remembers.
But it was real enough, and so is the creature sitting before him on Roach's withers, occasionally cackling with pleasure and reaching one thin and scraggy hand forward to pet the mare's neck. "Not much of a conversationalist, are you?" Geralt asks. Uma only burbles something incoherent in reply, and Geralt sighs.
"Nothing a witcher and sorceress can't handle, huh?" he mutters to himself as they come to a halt at an inn, studying the back and top of Uma's bald, swollen head, the hunch of his back. "Yennefer's one of the great magicians of this world. Could be she's right."
Uma gurgles in reply, and Geralt shrugs. "Sure. But maybe it's time to call in a few reinforcements. A little more help couldn't hurt."
He dismounts and reaches to lift Uma down, but doesn't let go of the creature's hand once he's on the ground. "Inn here," Geralt tells him. "Let's see if the door will work the way I want it to."
Uma gives him a look of bland, watery-eyed curiosity, but clings to the witcher's gauntleted hand, his fingers like grasping, crooked twigs. His eyes – one enormous and goggling, the other small and screwed-up, both open in blunted astonishment as Geralt swings the inn door open and reveals, not the dim interior of a village public house, but something a great deal larger, brighter, and louder.
"Hm," says Geralt, satisfied, and steps inside, guiding Uma along with him. "Step one."
But it was real enough, and so is the creature sitting before him on Roach's withers, occasionally cackling with pleasure and reaching one thin and scraggy hand forward to pet the mare's neck. "Not much of a conversationalist, are you?" Geralt asks. Uma only burbles something incoherent in reply, and Geralt sighs.
"Nothing a witcher and sorceress can't handle, huh?" he mutters to himself as they come to a halt at an inn, studying the back and top of Uma's bald, swollen head, the hunch of his back. "Yennefer's one of the great magicians of this world. Could be she's right."
Uma gurgles in reply, and Geralt shrugs. "Sure. But maybe it's time to call in a few reinforcements. A little more help couldn't hurt."
He dismounts and reaches to lift Uma down, but doesn't let go of the creature's hand once he's on the ground. "Inn here," Geralt tells him. "Let's see if the door will work the way I want it to."
Uma gives him a look of bland, watery-eyed curiosity, but clings to the witcher's gauntleted hand, his fingers like grasping, crooked twigs. His eyes – one enormous and goggling, the other small and screwed-up, both open in blunted astonishment as Geralt swings the inn door open and reveals, not the dim interior of a village public house, but something a great deal larger, brighter, and louder.
"Hm," says Geralt, satisfied, and steps inside, guiding Uma along with him. "Step one."
