@rozpustnik said: “ARE YOU CHASING SOMETHING, OR RUNNING AWAY?”
I WISH IT WERE NOT SO, he tells to his noble companion. I wish it was not so inevitable that this be my fate, and yet it is. Searching for Love, for Companionship, made reckless in the Night. Of Yennefer. And he could not stay, so, against all bound odds, he must leave in the Night, too. And he is composed entirely of nothing. That is, a Void, empty, dark, and reflective, perhaps, of that he consumes. Selfishly. Utterly uncomplicated. And utterly Lonely.
“Are you chasing something, or running away?” He asks. The silence stuns, and he neglects the urge to tell Dandelion to shut up. That he ought to be chasing a place for them to set up camp before it grows too dark. But he doesn’t. And he revels in the quiet. For a time.
“You’re talking rubbish, Dandelion.”
Geralt silences him with a glance. They continue on. In Silence. Uncharacteristic Silence. They find good land, just outside of a cleared cave, where they set up camp. The fire burns. The moon is awfully pointed. The stars could be brighter. And Dandelion could be much more talkative. But here they are. In Silence. Uncharacteristic Silence.
Dandelion pulls dried meats from Geralt’s pack. He does not mind. He says nothing. Geralt pets Roach, then feeds her from a sack of oats. She is very polite, for having endured a long day of trekking. He feeds her a surplus. Slight, considering all circumstances. He, himself, does not eat. He has no need to--or, perhaps, wish to.
When they settle in for the night, Dandelion presses the issue again. I do not know what you see in that woman, he says. Then you never will, Geralt pouts. And Dandelion pouts back. But they still hold each other close, for it is a cold night, and they must huddle together for warmth. And they do. Unashamedly.
He inevitably regrets confiding in his Dear Poetaster. No good will come of it. But, then, no good will come of anything. For it is his Fate to kill Monsters, and kill the Feeling within him, and not much else. Dandelion nods, sees through Geralt. Perhaps it is to be expected. Geralt speaks of Atavistic Remnants, of Emotion Stripped, of Aching, Yearning, Longing. I am gaunt and hungry, like a Savage cat, starving in the Night. But even that hisses at me. He means to say: thus, here I am. With such deep and utter Finality.
“Neither of those are mutually exclusive, Dear Poet. Good night.”
