[ Her smile softens. She wrings out the cloth to keep it from unruly dripping. ]
Please, Geralt. What kind of argument is that? I'm not the one being bullied into bedrest right now.
[ He really is a mess, smeared with previous attempts at washing, or just sort of wiping away blood and grime. Ciri dabs at his brow and temples, working the dried blood out of his hairline. For a while, she is quiet, focusing on her task -- water, washcloth, fingers brushing out his hair and getting as much of the grime out of it as possible without a proper bath. The back of his neck. The tops of his shoulders, avoiding the bandages.
It's true; she has seen him in far worse shape. This doesn't even come close, but in truth, she does not wish to see him that way ever again. ]
I'm glad you're home, Geralt.
[ The words leave her lips almost on accident, so soft a normal human might not have been able to hear without straining. It's not Sam's house she means. ]
no subject
Please, Geralt. What kind of argument is that? I'm not the one being bullied into bedrest right now.
[ He really is a mess, smeared with previous attempts at washing, or just sort of wiping away blood and grime. Ciri dabs at his brow and temples, working the dried blood out of his hairline. For a while, she is quiet, focusing on her task -- water, washcloth, fingers brushing out his hair and getting as much of the grime out of it as possible without a proper bath. The back of his neck. The tops of his shoulders, avoiding the bandages.
It's true; she has seen him in far worse shape. This doesn't even come close, but in truth, she does not wish to see him that way ever again. ]
I'm glad you're home, Geralt.
[ The words leave her lips almost on accident, so soft a normal human might not have been able to hear without straining. It's not Sam's house she means. ]