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"I just said 'big' and 'black'," Harry pointed out again, that small, amused, and frankly, irritating laugh escaping his lips once more.
"That could be all sorts of things, couldn't it? A big black bear, a particularly large raven, a very, very burnt piece of toast… I can think of plenty of other things, right off the top of my head, that are also big and black, Geralt. You have a rather one-track mind today."
Geralt just stared at what he now firmly, and with ever-growing certainty, assumed was a complete and utter, certifiable crazy person.
He tore his eyes off the man, deciding for the second time to pointedly ignore his nonsensical babbling, and let his gaze roam around the surprisingly spacious and well-appointed cave again.
His witcher senses were still on high alert. Something in the large, empty section of the cave, the part that hadn't been "decorated" with bookshelves and comfy armchairs, caught his attention once more.
He quietly walked over to it, his boots making little sound on the stone floor, and got a closer, more detailed look. On the rough, uneven stone surface, there were several large, deeply gouged claw marks.
Geralt's eyes widened considerably as he examined them with a professional, practiced eye. These claw marks were much, much too large, and spaced too far apart, to belong to a mere Slyzard or a common, everyday Forktail.
These were, in fact, some of the biggest, most impressive, and frankly, terrifying, dragon claw marks he had ever seen in his long, monster-hunting career.
There was no longer any doubt in his mind, not a single shred. This was, indeed, a dragon's cave. A very large dragon's cave.
He turned sharply, his expression grim, towards the strange, unsettlingly cheerful, and apparently oblivious young man. "We need to leave," Geralt said, his voice urgent, low, and filled with a grim, no-nonsense warning. "Now! Right now!"
The man, Harry, just looked up at him from the papers he was still shuffling, a mildly surprised, almost put-upon expression on his face.
"Oh, you're leaving already? So soon? That's a shame, I was just about to offer you some tea. Well, I wish you the best of luck on the road then, Geralt. Safe travels, try not to get eaten by any Grickens," Harry said, and then he promptly, infuriatingly, continued to quickly, almost frantically, rifle through some more of his damned pages, as if Geralt hadn't just issued a clear, unambiguous, life-or-death warning.
Geralt frowned, his patience, which was never particularly abundant to begin with, completely and utterly gone now.
He quickly strode up to the man, grabbed him roughly by one arm, spun him around to face him, and glared down at him with all the focused, deadly intensity he could possibly muster.
"Listen to me very carefully, you infuriating little fool," Geralt said, his voice a low, threatening growl that had made hardened criminals wet themselves.
"I don't know who you are, or why you're here, or what kind of game you think you're playing, but you picked the absolute wrong cave to move into. This is the cave of a very large, very powerful, and most likely very territorial, dragon. We need to leave, before it comes back and finds us trespassing in its lair. So, grab whatever little trinkets you can carry, and we're leaving. NOW."
He put as much raw menace and deadly urgency into his tone as he possibly could. Most sensible people, even brave ones, would cave in to him at this point.
They would do exactly what he told them, for the very simple, very understandable, fear of their own lives.
Sadly, this strange, infuriating young man just looked back at him with an expression of mild, almost bored, profound annoyance.
"Man, you are REALLY, really hung up on this whole dragon thing, aren't you?" Harry said with an exaggerated, exasperated sigh.
"Though, I guess I shouldn't really be too surprised, knowing you and all… your rather famous reputation, I mean." He paused, then a thoughtful, almost mischievous look crossed his face.
"Alright, look. Can you keep a secret, Geralt of Rivia? A really, really big one? One that might just blow your witcher mind?" Harry finally asked him, his green eyes sparkling with something unreadable.
Geralt just looked at the man, his mind already rapidly debating whether he would need to simply, and for the man's own good, knock him unconscious and drag him bodily out of the cave. It seemed the only way to save this suicidal idiot from himself.
"Okay, stop right there," Harry said, holding up a placating hand, somehow, impossibly, sensing Geralt's violent intentions.
"I know that look. That's your 'I'm about to punch someone very hard' look. You're planning to hit me, aren't you? I never realized she got that particular, rather intimidating scowl from you, you know. Interesting family resemblance." He paused, then his tone suddenly became more serious, more direct.
"Look, Geralt," Harry said, "perhaps I should just… show you. Words clearly aren't getting through that thick witcher skull of yours."
Geralt just furrowed his eyebrows, his confusion deepening into outright bewilderment. The man was speaking absolute, complete nonsense, as far as he was concerned.
He opened his mouth to respond, to tell the man he was wasting precious, potentially life-saving time, but he suddenly found his hands empty, the man he'd been gripping so firmly vanishing with the distinct, sharp pop of magical apparition.
His eyes widened in genuine shock, and he instinctively, lightning-fast, drew his silver sword, dropping into a ready, defensive stance, his senses screaming.
"You are actually about as paranoid, and as quick on the draw, as I thought you would be," a familiar, amused voice said from behind him.
Geralt spun around, his movements fluid and deadly, and saw the man called Harry standing back near the emptiest part of the cave, right where he had first seen those massive, terrifying dragon claw marks.
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If you want to read ahead by 15+ chapters from her you can visit my Patre-on.
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