~ Baby Roach Drabbles ~
"What's wrong, Geralt?" Jaskier asked.
It was a reasonable question, since Geralt was curled up in a ball under the covers, emitting a constant low whine.
"My stomach," Geralt whined.
Although that was hardly a complete sentence, from the context Jaskier could assume that this answer meant that the witcher's stomach hurt.
"Were you wounded by a monster sometime between breakfast and now?" Jaskier asked.
It was a reasonable question, since a a few hours had passed, and it was entirely possible that Geralt had somehow encountered a monster between then and now. Things like that happened fairly often.
"No."
"Well, what did you eat?"
"Hay."
"Hey what?" Jaskier asked, nonplussed.
"Hay... I ate hay."
Now the bard understood. Upon hearing the answer at first, his mind refused to consider that Geralt had meant hay.
"...can witchers digest hay?"
"No."
"Then why would you eat it?!"
"Baby Roach wanted me to eat some hay, and I couldn't say no to that little face..."
~oOo~