[It is a shame, he thinks, that the first time Geralt has ever been glad about anything from him, it's this horrid bit of news. It may not lead to anything, but Jaskier would prefer -- albeit selfishly -- to not be the only person burdened with this.

It's... a lot. And he still cannot think what the shapeshifter's end goal will be.

To galvanize the elves? The bard is all for that, mistreated as they are. But to what end? When he thinks about what this could lead to, he must think truthfully: to what end? Will they be granted land, and people, and supplies by Nilfgaard? They seemed to believe it enough to want passage. Or perhaps it is only as important as having feet steeped in Xin'trean soil once again.

He takes a breath. The conversation moves on.] About half an inch from the end of a Temerian axe, before I was saved. [He picks up his drink once again, but doesn't drink.] The elves came for me. They broke up the camp. I suppose I was not very good at keeping secrets.

[They must have known he was the Sandpiper. Which is funny, in some ways. He still does not think that was enough reason to come for him.] I walked away with all limbs intact, albeit with one new fear added to the growing list I already have.