[Jaskier, like him, knows the move was worth it. Feels it. He'd do it again if they needed, if only to give room to Ciri and Rinwell their own rooms. He'd loved glancing at Rinwell's loft in the mornings, making sure to leave extra pancakes to the side for her when she woke -- often already with a book in her hands.

And it was large enough they had gotten a second table for proper dining, so Ciri no longer needed to butcher scorpions or whatever where they ate.

It was cozy. It was lived in. Home.

He lays on his side facing Geralt, propping his head up on a hand. He smiles.] You fixed it? Only the two of you?

[He knows. He doesn't ask why the tree was shattered in the first place; a foolish question, when Jaskier's domain had turned into from a lovely, sunny vineyard to that stupid, stinking tavern. Hearing that Geralt's was damaged the same, but repaired in the end -- it felt like some sort of. Good omen.] That's really wonderful to hear, Geralt. I'm sorry that I was not... I was not able to help.

[He had been in no state to even offer. And he had not gone; has barely gone, really, since he saw that basement in Geralt's Kaer Morhen.]