Godlings were harmless. Mischievous? Certainly. But they would hurt a man no more than a child would. He couldn’t kill an innocent creature for pulling a few pranks and being different. Which means that this little excursion was a complete waste of time, energy and food, and he would see not a single coin for his trouble.

The Godling blinked up at him with, hm, what was that? Fear? Wonder? Guilt..?

“Yes mister, a Godling is what I am. Please don’t be angry with me!”

The Godling shuffled its tiny feet in the dirt, looking down at them as if they were suddenly the most interesting thing in all of the lands.

Geralt’s eyes fell closed, an exasperated “hm” vibrating deep in his chest. 

“What did you do?”

“I took them chickens, I did, but I didn’t mean no harm by it, mister, I promise!” The Godling looked up at Geralt with its unnervingly big eyes, it’s bottom lip beginning to tremble slightly.

“It’s just, I needed the people to put up a notice! Needed the ‘elp of someone such as yerself!”

Geralt dropped his pack to the floor, rubbing his temples.

“Go on.”

“Well, see, I got lost out here all on me own,”

“And you’re how many years old? 500?”

“563, actually! But that don’t make no difference. Still lost, still alone.”

“This won’t take long, will it? I’m on my way to meet someone.”

“Oh! Who is it?!”

“He’s a... hm.” Geralt shifted his weight slightly, taking his turn now to find a sudden great interest in his boots. He scuffed at the dirt with a toe.

“A friend?” the Godling gave Geralt a mischievous look, “Witcher’s don’t ‘ave friends!”

“Yes, that’s what I keep telling him.”

“He sounds very persistent! I think we would get along swimmingly!” The Godling began skipping off in front of Roach, singing an ancient tune to itself without a single care in the world.