A diary entry about Geralt:
Well, yet again I’m rather at a loss. We’ve made camp outside of a horrid little hole in the ground ai absolutely REFUSE to call a village, becuase once again people refuse to listen to reason, or lovely ballads, and are refusing us a room at the tavern.
Geralt has said I should get a room anyway and he was fine camping but that is such utter nonsense that I didn’t even give him more than a look in answer. Which to his credit he didn’t argue with this time and merely rolled his eyes and led the way back to our temporary camp. It’s far better anyway. The tavern smelled of piss and barn animals.
Geralt is hunting for dinner near by. I can only hope when we try to pick up a few of the very necessary supplies we truly cannot wait on, that we won’t be denied that too. Though most assuredly we’ll be overcharged horribly. I hate it. I hate how they treat him. Geralt despite his vehement protests, is a good man. He is one of the best and most honorable men I know. He risks his life again and again for those who would just as soon spit on him as pass him on the road. And yet over and over again he risks his life and safety to slay the beasts that would destroy them. And what does he get? Scorn. Mistreated and mistrusted.
It makes my blood boil. More than a few fist fights have erupted over just such occasions. Geralt is often less than pleased with me for the fights, but sometimes I can see him watching me aftwards and I see something in his gaze. Perhaps it’s merely a trick of the light, or wishful thinking, but sometimes I think I can see a bit of softness and thanks. Regardless I won’t stop defending his honor and his rights for basic kindness and decency. He deserves it and more. All the Witchers do.
Geralt is returning so I cannot write more. But i will end this entry with the thought that seeing him smile a little when he comes back to camp, rabbits in hand is a sight that never fails to warm my heart and I shall carry it with me always.
