It's been a couple weeks since they'd last spent any time together, but Blake finds his way to Geralt's new address regardless. The package he leaves is carefully wrapped in parchment and he's tucked a note under the twine used to hold it all together.

Geralt—

A man of so few words usually has a couple to spare.

I hope you at find this notebook useful. The leather comes from the hide of an animal brought in from the desert and the metal was scavenged from my work. The included cordage can be used with the bookmark or you can tie back your hair.

Thanks for saving my ass.

-Blake

P.S. If you have any need of courier services, I've employed the child we met in the mines. He's eager to work and I'm eager to provide safer conditions.

As promised, the parchment reveals an inprecisely bound book. The pages are fixed in well enough, but the grain of the leather is obvious and the edges aren't nearly as crisp as they could be. There's a small amount of animal glue tacking down the first page to the inside cover, but it's an effort, another in a long line of Blake's attempts at trying to find a new place in this world.

Stuck into the middle pages, pounded thin into what barely resembles a sword, Blake has crudely focused his lingering aggression on making something more useful than beautiful. Like the small flower hairpin he'd crafted for Hilda, Blake's interest is less in absolute precision and it shows. Call this his blue period, or maybe he's just too fragile for nitpicking, but his addition of a hilt and the wrapping of matching leather in cordage of a slightly wavering width makes it more a bookmark in his mind than a letter opener or even a poor weapon.

It's the thought that counts, he reminds himself before he's swept off to work, inevitably cast to toss further suspicious light on Viktor's own plans with the mines.