"There's always more," Geralt grumbled. More beasts. More insects. More monsters. More fighting. There would always be something that needed killing or that was trying to kill him. But it wasn't just him out here. Jaskier, pure as the sunlight, was a walking snack. Every creature they'd encountered seemed to want a piece of him. As much as he was irritated with having to go back to killing, he knew he would do it all damn day if it meant keeping Jaskier safe.
The thing that was truly bothering Geralt was that now there was a very real possibility he could lose Jaskier. There were far too many things out here that could kill him and without his swords, he had less to use to defend them. One slip-up, one moment where he was too slow and it could mean death for the bard.
"Stick close," he warned for probably a thousandth time. Grabbing the stick and the thread he'd borrowed off Jaskier's shirt (since he was without his own) that he'd been using to fish with one hand, he used the other to take Jaskier by the hand and lead them back up the stream. Down a ways, he'd been able to find them a house. It wasn't big but it at least kept them dry and warm. And Jaskier in one solid piece.
He'd been keeping Jaskier close physically for the last several days but emotionally, Geralt had been distant. It was strange to feel so much fear over losing someone. He would have thought he'd lost that ability a long time ago. Apparently not. And Geralt knew that his fear had been keeping him in a sour and silent mood. He stopped and turned, looking down at Jaskier who looked like a horrible mess but still stubborn. "You shouldn't have followed me in Posada. You could be safe drinking wine somewhere with some grand duchess and you're stuck here in bug hell with me."