[ She sets his boots to the side (she won't even leave them on the rug) and rises to help with his shirt; she would really rather he not lift his arms very far at the moment. She's nearly positive he has at least a rib fracture, and if it's worse, she would really prefer he not pop a lung in her bedroom.

But she is honestly very concerned about him. Which is probably why she sounds so dry when she scoffs and tosses his shirt on top of his boots. ] Are you fuckin' crazy? You'll be lucky to be on your feet by next week, Geralt. Look at you.

[ Rubbing at her temple, she grabs a bowl from the sideboard -- the same bowl, actually, that she'd filled with water to help Susan -- and disappears into the bathroom for just a moment. When she comes back, she has a white cloth in one hand and the bowl of water in the other, which she sets on the bedside table. She dampens the cloth and begins gently wiping blood off his face. ]

Right, so Thorne, but why did you cross the border in the first place?