[ Geralt doesn't press. Not about that. He feels too much like he's finding his way in the dark, still trying to catch up with everything that's happening. He just. He hadn't known. That's what it comes down to. To Ciri, he does. He has known all of these things about her for years, has probably helped her through it, learned from the mistakes he's undoubtedly made along the way. But for him, right now—

She's answering, so he holds onto that, tenuous though it is. ]

He decided it was the ideal way in which to get me into new clothes, and lost both to the damn river. I nearly left him in the woods that day. But we did discover it's possible for me to get into his silk breeches.

[ There's some fondness, in how he tells it, something he doesn't often let through when it comes to Jaskier. He stacks another stone on top, turning it until it sits without wobbling. Thinks of the knucklebones he found in her room, and wonders if he ever played it with her while they were travelling, while they were at Kaer Morhen. When she was younger. They're memories he can only imagine at best. ]