It is, he thinks, the first time a stretch of silence has left him uneasy. (Nervous). He hesitates, wondering if he should speak, or if he should simply tell her to come inside before she the chill grows too cold. Except she doesn't even seem particularly cold here. She's just taking it in, with an expression on her face he can't even begin to work out.

Beautiful. He stares at her. In all truth, he can't say what he was expecting. He was simply waiting. To see. And now that she's reacted, he's—

He looks away, peering up at the trees. Mountains that aren't really there. He's aware, always, that this is not Kaer Morhen. It lacks the most important pieces. (His people.) But it's close enough, for the part of him that. Misses home. A part he won't ever fully acknowledge. It is beautiful. For all of the blood that's spilled here, for all of his conflicting feelings about being brought to a place he never wanted to be, he's come to find a quiet calm about the icy snow, the bleached bones, the whisper of wind through the walls.

It isn't something he ever anticipates anyone raised outside of these walls to understand.

He swallows. His fingers brush Ciri's shoulder. "Come inside."