Jaskier awoke with a start and a lingering sense of falling, darting somewhat upwards with a gasp before exhaustion had him sinking back into the pillow. Which was odd in its own sense as one, he'd just woke and sleep usually tended to fend off exhaustion and two, last he recalled he was up a tree with a mob of hungry drowners circling like sharks below. Stirred by the sent of his injured leg. Not in a nice warm eh... half comfy bed, though it was certainly a plesent change. Surely it had not all been but a dream? He reached down to investigate the injured leg, ghosting his fingers over the spot where the creature's claws had tore into his flesh, a tiny brush, barely a touch at all. Burning pain shot through his leg all the same and his fingers flinched back from his leg as he drew in a hissed breath. Nope not a dream, definitely not a dream.

"That's going to be quite sore for a while I'd avoid proding it for the time being." A feminine voice spoke and his eyes darted across the room to find a middle aged woman standing in the doorway to the room he was in.

"Oh, uh, hello." He said, the woman wasn't ringing any bells in his mind, he was pretty sure he'd not met her before. "I'm sorry, I'm a little lost, how- where am I and who are you?"

"My name's Hilda and I'm the town healer, your friend brought you here so I could tend to your injuries." The woman replied, as she crossed the room and placed her palm against his forehead. Oh, that would explain all the dried plants hanging on the wall and the bottles of various substances. For a moment there he was a little worried he was to have woken in some crazy witch's room again. "Hmm, still signs of fever. How do you feel?"

"Tired and sore, I guess. Maybe a little stiff, but I was sat up a tree for two days so I guess that's probably expected." Jaskier answered, nose crinkling as the woman made him drink some bitter liquid from a small vial. "Wait... friend?"

He wasn't with a friend, he's traveled between towns with random farmers and caravans, even an odd religious group at one point that had stopped at several strangly carved figgures that looked more like devils than any god he's ever heard of before, to pray along the way. He was certainly not ever traveling with those weirdos again. While the roads were safer in numbers, he'd been alone since Geralt had snapped at him and wished him gone.

So he didn't have a friend with him and he didn't know anyone in town. He'd not been this way in his travels before and hadn't been in town long enough to get to know anyone.

"The Witcher." Hilda stated, as she continued to fussing over him.

"Witcher?" Now he was even more confused, he'd thought the Witcher had left him to the drowners, what with fucking off with his coin and leaving him stuck up a tree for two days. Perhaps the one eyed bastard's guilt had gotten the better of him.

"Yes, white hair, not much for conversation. He's out front seeing to his horse at the moment." She hummed, making her way to the door once more. "While you are up you should have something to eat, Ill be back with a bowl of broth in just a moment."

Geralt... that was unexpected. He didn't even know the man was in the area, but then he'd been purposely trying to avoid hearing talk of the White Wolf ever since they parted ways. He didn't want to hear of the Witcher's possible heroics, not while he was going through a bit of a rough patch himself. Turns out mopey downtrodden bard's aren't very popular in these parts, so he was almost back to the point of stuffing bread in his pants again.

Aah, old times.

He was halfway through the broth he'd been brought when Geralt entered the room, he didn't come close, just lingered in the doorway. "You're up."

"Well still in bed," Jaskier pointed out as he looked over at the man. "Not quite on my feet yet, don't think my leg would hold, but other wise, yes. Though I am rather- my gods what in the world is that?" His eyes caught suddenly on the hideous wrinkled, blue and grey head held by the hair in the witcher's hand.

"Water hag, the healer asked if she could have its tongue." Geralt answered, though Jaskier couldn't help but notice the other didn't venture any closer. The bard really, really didn't want to know what the healer planed to use that for.

"Oh, well that's just typical isn't it. I'm stuck up a tree meanwhile your off on a hunt worthy of song." The bard pouted, setting aside his bowl and sinking back into the pillow with a huff.

"Hmm," Geralt grunted, "it was more mud slinging in a storm than anything."

"You fought it during the storm," Jaskier groaned, throwing his arms out to his sides somewhat dramatically as he lamented. "Of course it was durring the storm, nothing makes for an epic ballad like a deadly battle of Witcher against a gruesome foe in the midst of a raging storm. Oh the crowds it would have drawn, but no, all I got was the tail of a foolish bard chased up a tree by drowners..."

"Right. Well I'm off to collect the coin for this." Geralt cut in, holding up the head before stalking out of the building and leaving the bard to his wallowing.

"R-right." Jaskier let out a sigh as the Witcher left, the other certainly seemed eager enough to leave, Geralt may have saved him but that didn't necessarily mean the man had forgiven.

Geralt might like to try and keep up the whole brooding, stoic Witcher who only works if there is enough coin on offer persona, but he knows better. He knows the other man doesn't just do it for the coin, he genuinly likes to help when needed. He's seen Geralt help a farmer fix the wheel on his wargon after wolves had spooked his horse and sent it off road. Was there when the Witcher turned down a newly widowed mother's coin after slaying the beast that killed her husband, so she could afford medicine for her sick daughter.

So just because Geralt had saved him from the drowners he was certain he would fall prey to, didn't mean the man wasn't still mad. The Witcher may not yet be back in the mood for company, or putting up with a nuisance bard trailing him around. Jaskier wasn't an idiot, despite having done some rather stupid things in his life. He knew Geralt had spent the majority of his long, long life as a lone wolf, the Witcher wasn't used to company, especially constant company with no battle skill determined to follow him even into potentially dangerous situations. He also knew that Jaskier, or Julian Aflred Pankratz, or Dandelion as known to some, whatever name he might go by could be kind of annoying and tended to wear on other's nerves with time. People just tired of him and he wasn't always the best at figuring when he was overstaying his welcome.

So if the man still needed time to himself to work through his grievances, or wounded pride, whatever it was that had Geralt snarling so violently up top that mountain who was he to argue. He would repay whatever necessary to compensate the man for saving his sorry butt and dragging him to a healer, be it coin, song or continued peace from his presence(or lack there of) and leave Geralt to himself. Continuing to try and avoid the Witcher until next they are destined to bump into each other.

Speaking of songs...

Jaskier scanned the room desperately for his beloved lute, spotting it nearby to his left by an old wooden chair perched between his bed and the next. Close enough he could grip it without stretching too far, though he still winced as the movement pulled at the stitches in his leg. It's case was freshly polished and cleaned and he couldn't help but feel a swell of warmth in his chest at the familiar smell of the oil used. It smelt just like Roach's saddle and bags, it's strap was still in two and part of him dreaded the damage it may have taken as he took the instrument out.

A desperate day indeed when a bard is forced to use his precious instrument as a weapon.

Relief washed over him as he found other than being a little scuffed up his lute was left undamaged. The scratches would clear up well enough with a little wax and care. He strumbed a chord or two lazily before returning the instrument to it's case. He was still feeling awefully exhausted and a nap was sounding very welcoming right now, so settling back once more he let his eyelids slowly droop shut.

...

"Grotesque muck monsters... No, no, that won't do." Jaskier muttered to himself, tweaking the notes strummed on his lute by a single chord with a shake of his head. Nose scrunching as he set the instrument beside him in favour of scribbling out the line in his note book.

"Bog beast..." That one wasn't much better. "Demons of the deep. Oh, yes, yes I like that one."

"Working on your next song?" Geralt's gruff voice interrupted from the doorway, and the bard looked over in surprise.

"Geralt! I didn't think- I mean- your back." Part of him had been certain the other wasn't to return, not expecting to see the man again until they next crossed paths. "I wouldn't really call it a song so much as a tale of warning. I was thinking of calling it 'Never trust a one eyed Witcher with a cat around his neck.' I know, I know the titles a little long but I feel it really gets the message across."

"One eyed witcher?" The white haired Witcher inquired, crossing the room to claim the chair the lute had sat on. "The one Hilda mentioned passed through a couple days back I take it."

"The very bastard, yes." Jaskier spat.

"What did the fool do to earn himself the scorn and a song of warning from the mighty bard and friend of Witchers?" A hint of amusement in white haired Witcher's tone.

"Oh I don't know, took my coin then fed me to the drowners." The poet replied with a huff, glaring down at his notes.

"He robbed you?"

"Not exactly, I willingly gave him the coin." Jaskier shook his head, though his reply only seemed to add to the Witcher's confusion.

"You paid him to feed you to drowners?"

"What? No."

"I'm lost." Geralt admitted exasperatedly. "Start from the begining."