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The blue fox had been following them for about three miles. Roach had noticed first, startling into a canter with an indignant toss of her head. Geralt had stroked her mane, ignoring Jaskier’s chatter. The fox was small, a few inches larger than a red fox based on its frame but skinny like death. It’s green eyes flashed in the dark. The little fox smelled of desperation and sage. Probably starving from the human farms encroaching into its hunting territory. Geralt could almost sympathize with a fellow monster who was chased out of the borders of towns with stones.
Almost.
White wolves didn’t take care of stray foxes.
With the animal categorized as not-threat and the loping footsteps behind them now recognized, Geralt went back to tracking the manticore. Considering the assortment of limbs, the monster was surprisingly hard to track.
Jaskier continued his ramblings, seeming to briefly flit between topics before settling on talking about food.
Geralt threw a loaf of bread at his head.
Jaskier shoved pieces of the bread in his mouth. He gesticulated wildly with his other free hand.
Close enough to silence. Jaskier shouldn’t be blamed for Geralt’s enhanced hearing, even if he could be blamed for an absolute lack of table manners. Geralt did his best to ignore the tearing and chewing and crunching and mumbling. Jaskier was merely human, not mutated to prowl silently like a wolf. Even the horse managed to be quieter. Geralt shouldn’t hold his pathetic human unenhanced reflexes against him. Witchers lacked emotions, making them extremely patient while tracking their target. The manticore would hear Jaskier chewing a few meters off.
Another few miles. The mumbling faded out. Geralt finally looked behind him to where Jaskier was shuffling behind. A silent bard was trouble.
“I can see you,” Geralt growled.
Jaskier whipped around. Wide blue eyes blinked at Geralt.
“Witchers can see in the dark?” Jaskier asked.
“I can see and hear you.”
“How well can you see in the dark?”
“So I can see what you’re doing,” Geralt continued.
“Could you see me when I left the campfire last night? Because-”
“Stop throwing bread to the wild animal.”
“How could you accuse me?” Jaskier gasped, slapping one hand onto his chest and shoving the rest of the bread loaf into a pocket.
“Stop.”
Jaskier did not stop. Jaskier was not stealthy while continuing to throw bits of the loaf behind him as he walked. Jaskier was not quiet when he cooed at the fox who was steadily following a few feet behind them, seeming totally unconcerned by how sharp the teeth were that gobbled up the bits of bread. Jaskier did not stop even when Geralt knocked him upside the head.
(For a witcher, it was a very gentle knock. More like a scruff, or a tap, or nudge. Jaskier must have agreed it was gentle because he completely ignored it.)
“Stop. Now.”
“Stop what? Are we making camp?” Jaskier asked, hopefully.
“No, stop feeding it.”
“He is hungry and we are friends now. He could be our barker! The white wolf of Rivia and the blue fox of ---”
Not the beginning of a song.
“Foxes don’t bark,” Geralt interjected.
“He needs us, Geralt. Look how sweet he is,” Jaskier cooed at the fox, hitting an ungodly high note. He very nearly crouched down to coo at it like a noblewoman to a simpering lapdog.
The fox yipped.
“And he likes my singing! We have to keep him.”
Unlike the bone thin hirakka, this starving wilding animal did not take Jaskier’s guileless entreaties as an invitation to attack. The blue fox yipped a few more times, slowly circling closer. Roach side stepped, skittish at the new animal. Both the fox and Jaskier ignored this warning.
The lack of common sense was apparently helping the two fools bond.
Humans weren’t supposed to trust wild animals with huge glinting eyes in the dark, whose pupils contract into slits against yellow-green and claws catch starlight on the dusty road. Jaskier’s humanity was something unfamiliar to --
“Geralt! He’s licking my hand! Look!”