[ Geralt shifts to get a better look. With his night sight not as it is, he grabs the ring Ciri carries, shining it into the open wound. Round. Like a small silver coin.
Without the right tools, removing it will be difficult. He doesn't want to risk digging into the gash and making it worse. But what the fuck is it? How had it gotten there?
He looks up. When he asks again, he is very quiet. ] Ciri. Where is this from?
[ Deep down, he knows it can't be from the acolytes. This isn't their style. Every bit of the cavern is organic, pulsing, growing. If they were to implant something inside her, it would not be a piece of metal.
And he has not forgotten the questions he's had about her capture. How she arrived unharmed. ]
no subject
Without the right tools, removing it will be difficult. He doesn't want to risk digging into the gash and making it worse. But what the fuck is it? How had it gotten there?
He looks up. When he asks again, he is very quiet. ] Ciri. Where is this from?
[ Deep down, he knows it can't be from the acolytes. This isn't their style. Every bit of the cavern is organic, pulsing, growing. If they were to implant something inside her, it would not be a piece of metal.
And he has not forgotten the questions he's had about her capture. How she arrived unharmed. ]