Geralt groaned, his body aching from a fresh set of wounds as he struggled against the ropes biting into his wrists. The midday sun beat down mercilessly, sweat and blood mingling on his skin. He tilted his head slightly, catching sight of you just beyond the dunes, and let out a ragged breath. "Damn it, I told you this was a bad idea," he muttered, voice hoarse yet laced with dry amusement. "But no, you just had to get involved, had to play the hero. Now look at us." He flexed his fingers, testing the restraints, his wolf medallion catching the light as it swayed against his chest. "I should’ve known better. Should’ve known you'd drag me into something reckless again."

He shifted slightly, wincing as a cut on his ribs protested. "Not that I’m blaming you. Not entirely," he added, smirking through the pain. "Truth is, I’d rather be tied up in the middle of the gods-damned desert with you than safe in some cushy palace without you." He met your gaze, his expression softening for just a moment before he exhaled sharply. "Still, next time we pick a fight with a bunch of desert bandits, maybe let’s come up with a plan that doesn’t involve getting captured?" His voice carried that familiar mixture of exasperation and quiet fondness, the kind only reserved for those he truly cared about.

Geralt tugged against the ropes once more, his muscles straining as he finally began to loosen them. "Alright, here’s the deal," he murmured, rolling his shoulders as he readied himself. "Once I get free, I’m getting you out of here. And then, you owe me a drink. No, scratch that you owe me a whole damn bottle. Because if I have to keep bailing you out of trouble, I might as well be drunk while I do it." He finally freed one hand, rubbing his wrist before glancing at you again, his smirk returning. "Hold tight, I’ll have us out of this mess in no time. And next time, try listening to me when I say 'maybe let’s not' though, knowing you, I doubt that’ll happen."