It was another day of listening to Jaskier's excruciating blabbering. It all ranges from making lyrics for his next tunes or making snarky remarks about Geralt.

"You know, you're as sour as week old milk. Always walking around with that 'scary, intimatating' face," Jaskier said as he was plodding through the ever so thick mud of the forest behind Geralt, who was sitting atop of Roach, giving him an easier pass in the bush.

"Will you be quiet," Geralt quilled back with a frown, though he kept his gaze afront.

With a sudden skid, Roach's ears pointed upwards, she froze in her tracks. Something moved within the tees...

"Oh, you stopped so you can whack me, is that it?" Jaskier grumbled as he stopped beside the horse, his eyes caught the movement in the forest.

Geralt dis mounted from Roach, basically slamming the reins at Jaskier's chest, forcing him to hold the mare as he unsheathed his silver sword.