[ She's a sweet thing, isn't she? John was never up on animals and all. Never grew up with any that weren't the strays that littered his little wasteland where he built his forts. He reaches up to smooth a hand over her head and pat the side of her neck as he takes the reigns. He can let her finish her food first if she likes. Finding her was the difficult part.

Geralt huffs out a tired noise. He saw his magic on the bottles. Felt it. He knows what his magic and that of other Witchers feels like. He also knows what they smell like. ]

Perhaps the chaos has other ideas of how to answer queries. [ He can tell she isn't keen on this conversation. Granted, it's a rather impossible one. ]

I can smell it on him. Somewhere in his lineage there's more than just magic and chaos. Somehow he is part Witcher.