That gets another sound of Geralt, more of a derisive snort. The day Yennefer learned to let someone else keep her out of trouble would come sometime after rabbits learned to speak and just before pigs flew. Geralt might be a man of few words, but a lot of meaning went into some of those grunts of his.

They go into the look he shoots his chosen horse, too. Concern. For Yennefer, for all that she make it hard to worry about her, he finds himself doing it anyway. Sure she'd find some way to make this worse for herself, or for the rest of them. Yennefer was like a fox with her foot in a snare, willing to gnaw it off to get free. Worse than that, because at least a fox didn't have the memory or the understanding to regret what she'd lost. Yennefer on the other hand had an amazing capacity for resentment.

She isn't the only one he has to worry about. Apparently that number just went up by one, whether or not he's quite ready to admit it.

"Good luck convincing her of that," Geralt says before turning his gaze back toward the bard. "I suppose if you'll be coming with us, we'll need to find you a horse too. See any you like?"