summary: Jaskier asks Yennefer to translate Geralt's "hm".

of the start and the end
part three: the room was so quiet

It's amusing how Jaskier thinks he's as quiet as a mouse. She knows the moment he begins to follow her through the thin cluster of tall and bendy trees. His pants had made noise and he'd stumbled a little against the log he'd perched against. His lyre—still broken with most of its strings cut loose by her hand—had made the most horrible bellow when placed on the ground.

Yennefer thinks she owes him this, this misplaced belief that he's slippery. His footfalls are clumsy and he kicks too many stones. He's disruptive, not quiet.

Without turning around, she sighs. "What is it, Jaskier?"

"Oh!" He startles. She doesn't need to peer over her shoulder to see the utter surprise on his face. "You… knew I was following you."

"Of course I did," she deadpans. "You're not exactly subtle."

"Kind of like you," he says with a little laugh. She ignores it, inhaling deeply and letting it out rough enough to sway the trees around them. He stumbles a little, coming to walk beside her. It's a small fit; the trees cluster together tightly.

"I had a question," he says, clearing his throat. Forcing herself to be patient, she doesn't nudge him like a brute to speak. "I, well… I've been a little stuck."

Yennefer stops abruptly, forcing him to retrace a couple of his steps to stand before her. Crossing her arms against her chest, she eyes him sharply. "What are you stuck with?"

"Well…" Jaskier appears sheepish. "I asked Geralt if he'd like me to, you know… if he'd like me to write a song for Roach. She's his most prized possession—"

"I know what Roach means to him," she says loudly and impatiently. "Why the fuck are you wanting to write a song for a horse?"

"Because!" He seems a little affronted. Sparing her a glance, he fumbles in trying to mimic her: arms crossed against his chest and back as straight as a pillar. "I… feel a little uncreative."

She presses her lips together in amusement. "Hm."

"And I wanted to ask you… I asked him, and he said 'Hm'." He frowns deeply.

"'Hm'?"

"Yes!" He nods vigorously. "But a little more growl to it. Like 'hmm'."

"'Hmm'?"

"'Hmmmph', almost."

Brows furrowing slightly, she regards him with a tilt of her head. "I doubt it was that. Geralt can't make that sound."

"It was like 'hmm'," he says, humming as low as he can. "I can't tell if he was telling me yes, he'd love a song for Roach, or telling me to piss off."

"If it was 'hm', he wants to you piss off."

Brow furrowed, Jaskier shakes his head. "It wasn't that one."

"You sure? Hm."

"Now I know you're just wanting me to piss off," he chuckles. Licking his lips, he tilts his head up defiantly. "And I won't, Yennefer of Hm-berg."

She cracks a smile. Pushing past him, he follows on her heels. "Hm?"

He laughs excitedly, "That's the one!"