It's a touch concerning, in truth, to watch her magic form unbidden and with so little effort—as though the magic is flowing out her rather than a controlled spell. He watches with a furrow to his brows. He doesn't like feeling as though something else is working through her, and the effects of her close proximity to the Singularity is...

Uncertain.

Still, it's not an answer he'll find any time soon. Slipping his arm under her legs, he scoops her up and carries her into the tent. It's far less discreet than he'd prefer, but there's no helping that it's here. He imagines the materials will fade with her magic when they leave.

While she rests, he goes through their supplies. He slips the broken stones into the bottom of his pack, keeping the evidence out of hers. They have enough water. At least the weather has cooled from the sizzling summers. The only thing missing is food—which he takes care of in short order. By the time she stirs, she'll find Geralt sitting on the edge of the bed with a steaming bowl and a spoon stuck in what looks like a thick rabbit stew. Hardly a banquet, but it's food, and it smells decent.

Right now, he wants to be sure she's all right before they do anything else. Or talk about anything else.

"Feeling better?"