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The sun was setting in the sky when the last trees gave way to endless fields. The people were growing their crops in this region for centuries now and the picture was never changing - just like himself.
He led Roach down the dirt road between the tall grass stalks.
"Do not cross the hayfield, the hayfield, the hayfield ..."
The faint singing came to him just like the wind in the grasses. Memories did that nowadays, sometimes more real than the world surrounding him. Roach whinnied and then he was wandering beside them again like on that day so many decades ago - silk doublet, too light boots and colorful flower crown on soft brown hair.
"The beauty of the world is breathtaking, don't you think, Geralt."
"I think your beauty is breathtaking, bard." Had he really said that back then? He wanted to believe he had while gazing into cornflower blue eyes. The dazzling broad smile that had followed being his reward.
"Do not cross the hayfield as sinks the bloodred sun."
He could hear the rich voice clearer now and watched as a strong hand reached out and touched the fuzzy grass buds of days long gone as they went along.
"Ghosts glide from the hayrick on the hayfield, the hayfield ..."
Some years ago he would have spurred Roach into a gallop, fleeing his presence, today he just let her keep her trod, happy to have him as long as he chose to stay with them.
"Jaskier", he whispered, voice even more raspy from not being used, just to hear that long forgotten name once more. He turned around and winked at him.
"Ghosts glide from the hayrick in the eerie glow."
The light of the day was gone now and the stars had come out. They travelled on and if there were people watching and if all they saw was a white haired old man on a horse and nobody else and if all they could hear was clatter of hooves and nothing more, he could not find it in himself to care.