Write something based on just one word. It can be any length: a few sentences, several paragraphs, or even an entire story. It's all up to you! Don't push yourself. You don't need an entire novel. If you're satisfied after only coming up with 3 sentences, you're done! Good luck and remember to have fun!
p.s. you're super awesome 👏🏻
“Who are you?” asks the little boy with the big, watery green eyes.
“I’m Jaskier,” the not-quite-human replies. He offers the child his hand slowly in an effort to abate some of his overwhelming fear, “I’m here to help you find your way back home.”
“Don’t have a home,” the little boy huffs, crossing his pudgy arms. “Witchers don’t have homes.”
“Ah, but a hatchling of a Witcher, yet. It seems that I’ve come upon a fearsome warrior-in-training loose in the forest!”
The child giggles brightly, a sweet and melodious sound, and Jaskier takes the opportunity to gather the lad onto his hip and stand.
“Which way back to your fearsome castle, then?”
The boy points to the east and Jaskier begins to jog at a brisk pace in that direction. Witchers or not, certainly somebody was out looking for this bright-eyed boy. He had to be no more than six, certainly.
“Here you go then,” Jaskier smiles when they reach the edge of Kaer Morhen’s sprawling courtyard. He releases the lad from his arms but the child stays put for a moment longer, his mop of unruly brown curls tickling against Jaskier’s neck. The almost-bard wrinkles his eyebrows, “Don’t you want to go home?”
“No,” the boy shakes his head again, emphatically. “Don’t wanna be a Witcher. I wanna be a knight and help people.”
“You’ll help them as a Witcher,” Jaskier nods knowingly. “Won’t you?”
“Yes but-” the boy bites his lip and silences himself. Anxious. Shy. Afraid. It pulls at Jaskier’s heartstrings to see the wee one so still and nervous.
“But it hurts to become a Witcher,” the boy finally whispers. Jaskier’s heart shatters completely and he traces the back of his knuckles across smooth, unblemished skin. Pale skin.
“If it hurts too much,” Jaskier offers. An offer he has never made before and will never make again. “If it hurts to much for you, little hatchling Witcher, call for me and I will answer.”
“You don’t need to know my name for your call to be heard. But, if you don’t mind, I must know yours.”
“Well you’d best get home, Geralt. I’m sure I’ll meet you again someday.”
“Good,” Geralt giggles, his own tiny hand reaching out to press against Jaskier’s warm cheek. “You’re pretty and I like your voice.”
“Thank you. I think we’re going to be good friends.”
