Barefoot in a creek.

It was something Geralt hadn't been for years, not since he was a small child untouched by the mutations that came with being a Witcher. The mud under his feet and the rocks poking into his heels, the way his clothes floated and stuck to his calves was familiar, though now his shirt didn't drag behind him on the top of the water. Instead, he was worried with his sword, holding it above his head in its sheath. And now he wasn't chasing after a fallen toy, or a small animal drowning in the water.

Now it was a person, a body, floating down the water slowly. They were in pure white clothes that floated and spread out around them like wings. They didn't look dead, so he was going to do the right thing- the thing he always would have- he was going to try and help. Once he got to the person he gently held them against his legs to keep the creek from carrying them away. He checked a pulse and was very relieved to feel a pulse.

With a grunt, he tugged the person from the water and into his arms, "Roach, come!" He whistled, wading to a shallow part of the water. "We're going to get you to a healer," he muttered to the frail-looking person, laying them across Roach's back. Geralt hadn't ever seen someone who looked like you, someone who looked so graceful despite being half dead. "Then we'll find out where you're from."

You were so bright in the sun, like a sacred white flame. The Witcher couldn't help but feel like a moth drawn to the light. Who was this person, drifting across the continent in all white, the clothes somehow unsoiled by the dirty brown water of the creek, and the delicate cloth unripped or deteriorated? "I hope they have coin to pay for my trouble."

He didn't mean it, satisfaction of his curiosity would be payment enough.