The last thing I want is a song written about me. Talk about embarrassing.

[ As truthful as that statement is, there's bemusement in her voice as she continues leading them over the crevice. There's no ease in her body language, but there is at least more urgency and far less hesitation. It might have something to do with the fact that she can feel the shudder of vines curling and decaying behind them and she's resolutely trying to ignore it while trying not to quicken the pace of her steps. ]

It's looking after someone actually. Someone left me a moogle in the Horizon and he lives in my little cottage in my domain. He's so cute and I'd ask Sylvain or Claude but he's a little...mouthy.

[ A little is putting it lightly. ]

Anyway, it's better that he goes to someone who has much more patience.

[ Asking Geralt to look after Mogwry if she dies horribly seems like a fair thing to ask, right? ]