[ Louis, Geralt thinks, must be the first to send him a formal letter before arriving on his doorstep. The majority just show up. At most, they note their arrival through the scrawled notes linked by the Singularity. He should find the letters frivolous, but he doesn't. They're familiar. A remnant of the Continent that this world often hasn't got much use for.
Not that he's sentimental.
Though temperatures plunge on the mountains, the snow drifts gently down. The sun shines. A pleasant winter. The bones half-buried beneath the white blanket can almost be mistaken for stepping stones. The wolf wanders across them and stares back at the visitor. There is, perhaps, something to recognize in its golden gaze, its scruffy fur that's more silver than pure white, and the scars that cut up its torso.
Geralt appears not from within the fortress but behind Louis; he strolls up the path, horse beside him. Seldom one to linger in place, he'd been riding elsewhere until he sensed the vampire encroaching.
When he walks up next to Louis, the wolf finally wanders off—as though its presence is no longer needed now that Geralt's here. ] Did you make a new friend?
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Not that he's sentimental.
Though temperatures plunge on the mountains, the snow drifts gently down. The sun shines. A pleasant winter. The bones half-buried beneath the white blanket can almost be mistaken for stepping stones. The wolf wanders across them and stares back at the visitor. There is, perhaps, something to recognize in its golden gaze, its scruffy fur that's more silver than pure white, and the scars that cut up its torso.
Geralt appears not from within the fortress but behind Louis; he strolls up the path, horse beside him. Seldom one to linger in place, he'd been riding elsewhere until he sensed the vampire encroaching.
When he walks up next to Louis, the wolf finally wanders off—as though its presence is no longer needed now that Geralt's here. ] Did you make a new friend?