Once he's got the hang of it, Ciri takes half a step back to watch without interfering. Her eyes are on the flames too, until the fire gets too hot and bright to look at directly and she has to blink and glance away. It's Wilhelm's face she settles on. The look on it, juxtaposed against her memory of the terrified boy she'd helped down the cave wall, the sunken-eyed and haggard prisoner she'd hunted too-small lizards for to cook over meager flames they could barely keep alive.

The fire roars in response to him now, rising up to meet his gesture like a beast Ciri isn't quite sure has actually been tamed.

"Careful," she speaks up at his shoulder, voice quiet but steady.

"Fire has a way of running wild."