[For Geralt]

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

Bull needed to get out of the house. Since Dorian made his wish, after the initial floodgate of things Bull didn't necessarily want to share had been broken, the mage had spent a solid week needling things out. It wasn't even always on purpose, but Bull had no recourse. He couldn't censor himself, he couldn't lie, and he couldn't hedge.

He'd been avoiding work, but he needed to do something, and helping Geralt with the house seemed as good an outlet as any. He'd been out to the site frequently since Geralt broke ground; sometimes with Krem and Gannicus, other times not. More hands made fast work, and more than that, he kind of liked seeing the progress. He liked knowing he had a small hand in that. So much of his life before coming to Darrow had involved playing the long game, the end of which he might never see.

On his way through the woods, Bull took off his shirt. It was a warm day and he didn't want to wear it, and there was no point in trying to hide the scars anymore. Geralt certainly wasn't one to judge.

Comments

[worstsin]

Geralt nodded his thanks for the compliment, but said nothing else about the cabin, as Bull had done much of the heavy lifting himself. He pressed on through the doorway, moving out of the entryway so the tall man could make his way in easily.

"What does that mean?" he asked in open curiosity, moving to the cupboards for a bottle of vodka he kept on hand, and the last of the drink that Bull brought over. Maaras-lok or something.

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

"Struggle is an illusion. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun - the tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. Maraas shokra - there is nothing to struggle against."

Bull could smell the maaras-lok as soon as Geralt got the bottle down and he chuckled. "Have you tried the maaras-lok as a human?"

Most non-Qunari he'd met choked on the first swallow, and had trouble with the rest after that. Geralt had been the only person he'd met that looked human that could handle it.