He'd made the mistake of assuming Geralt would be with the girl, watching over his Child of Surprise as she thrashed in the grip of nightmares. Or perhaps patching things up with Yenn. Or maybe entertaining Jaskier, now he can easily imagine the bard trying to bed two witchers in one day as if it were a sort of game.

Instead his brother's voice, that familiar low rumble that's as much a part of his sense of home as these decaying stones, greets him as he goes to cross the mess hall. He jumps, reaching for the edge of a table to catch himself.

"Wolf!" He says. "Scared the hell out of me, sitting down here in the dark. Thought everyone had gone to bed." He gets himself balanced again and resumes his limping passage across the mess to rummage through the sparse larder of winter rations. Keeping his distance, head down.

"Don't let me disturb you." He promises. "Just wanted to get something to eat without bothering the old man about it. I'll be out of the way again in a minute." Probably no chance of going to look for his vodka now, he'll have to content himself with what he can find here.

He can smell the white gull in the air, wonders why his brother is drinking alone down here in the cold and the dark. He clears his throat, wondering how it became so difficult to talk to a person who once felt like an extension of himself.

"I take the silence means Jaskier's not with you."