[And so like Geralt, it is rather hard for him, even for his bountiful wisdom and innate empathy, to see whether his words have made any difference to her. They sit quietly. They drink. He thinks of how "Needful Little Things" is a good title to a song, planning to write that down for later. Despite this rather dreadful and dreary last month, the things that have risen in him from living through it are truly an emotional gradient his personal muses speak to.
When it's the wolf who has been lost, Who will he call to?
When she speaks again, his body straightens. He smiles, soft.] Of course. Until you ask for it.
[There is hope yet. He plucks the letter off of the table and carefully folds it (after making sure there is no residual dough on his fingers, thank you.) He won't read it. It is not his to read. Besides, Ciri has already told him its contents, and he sincerely doubts Alina is a prolific letter-author. He stands to place it in his song-writing book, tucked between the final few pages.] Now, do you really wish to stay here and get drunk, or do you want to... I don't know. [He lifts his arms, then drops them to prop his hands on his hips.] Go wild? Ride a horse? Kill something?
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When it's the wolf who has been lost,
Who will he call to?
When she speaks again, his body straightens. He smiles, soft.] Of course. Until you ask for it.
[There is hope yet. He plucks the letter off of the table and carefully folds it (after making sure there is no residual dough on his fingers, thank you.) He won't read it. It is not his to read. Besides, Ciri has already told him its contents, and he sincerely doubts Alina is a prolific letter-author. He stands to place it in his song-writing book, tucked between the final few pages.] Now, do you really wish to stay here and get drunk, or do you want to... I don't know. [He lifts his arms, then drops them to prop his hands on his hips.] Go wild? Ride a horse? Kill something?