[ At least dancing is simple enough, her body leaning into the music and the gentle tug here and there of Hilda stepping into the leading role with ease, at least to start them off. These aren't the exact dances and specific steps she grew up learning, but she's spent long enough in the Free Cities by now to recognize and know the most common styles; she moves easily, light and graceful on her feet despite the way her mind keeps snagging on all the unexpected things about Hilda. ]

All that, from finding me in the woods having not brushed the blood out of my hair in a month? [ She laughs, as if to wave it off, but there's an undercurrent maybe that the question is genuine.

It's not that they haven't seen each other since, but really, that's the longest amount of time they spent together -- harrowed and haggard, making their way down the mountain with a few nights of camp and restless watching in between (and an avalanche, to top it all off). Ciri had been so focused on making sure everyone made it down in more or less one piece and making sure they were fed and not attacked by wild animals, that she'd hardly been out to make friends. Or a good impression at all. Hilda's probably seen her covered in mud and blood more days put together than she's seen Ciri bathed.

Suddenly, the realization is embarrassing where it really shouldn't have been. Ciri's always been proud of being able to handle herself in what many would consider man's work, while also happily remaining interested in dresses and makeup. But there's still the nagging disbelief whenever anyone calls her pretty, let alone stunning.

Unconsciously, by nervous habit, she lifts a hand from Hilda's shoulder to fuss with her bangs, pulling the longer strands over the scarred side of her face. Laughs again and shrugs. ]

You flatter me too much. I'm beginning to think you're winding up to ask me for a favor.