A smile touches the corners of Urianger's lips at that, and he lifts his own hand to cover Thancred's against his shoulder for just a moment in a warm, fond squeeze.

"I would thank thee for thine understanding, however I imagine 'tis not what thou wouldst hear. Instead know that, henceforth, I shall continue working to move past my troubles," he replies, offering the other man a little nod as he returns his hands to the blanket. "Laying these last poor souls to rest may be the final chapter."

It will be, he thinks, as the cart moves through the frozen landscape. Urianger is a firm believer in the importance of ritual: people need moments like this to be able to be able to mark their emotional progress, and he would be the first to admit that regarding the Pit? He seems to need it more than most. Geralt helped him realise that — or rather, helped him push past his fears with his no-nonsense advice so that he might find the heart of his problems — and Urianger is more grateful to him for it than he can say.

A wry smile touches his lips as he continues:

"I am most fortunate to have the support of a number of rather blunt white-haired men."