[ He's quiet while Sam absorbs what's around him, what Geralt's said. His expression is not relaxed, but nor is he especially tense. All of that—he made his peace long ago, like he said. It shows in the bones that sit outside, that he's kept even though he could remove them with a thought: not because it's easier or because he wants the reminder, but because—despite the weight they will always hold—it's as much a part of his home as the snow in winter, the mountains that span the horizon. No different than how Sam has placed the willow tree that sits outside his house.

The question comes unexpected. Geralt considers it all the same. He sees Kaer Morhen rarely outside winter. Once they're set on the Path, they don't return during the warm months unless it's pressing. Unless something has happened. Only Vesemir stays behind more and more often past the winters, something which none of them talk about. Nostalgia, perhaps. A longing. ]

They call them the Blue Mountains. For how they look from afar. But when you're actually here after the frost, all you see is green. [ He taps a finger idly against the table's surface. ] This place around you is... [ Hm. Not an imitation. He still created it, after all. ] A likeness. You'd be lost in the real thing.

[ Home to him is more than just the keep that sits nestled in the rocks. It's everything around it, too. The sheer cliffs, the thick forests, the frozen lakes that shine the sun back into the sky. A land that will either give you everything you need or swallow you whole at the slightest misstep.

For a few minutes, he's caught up in his thoughts. After a time, he leans back on his hands. ] I did get lost running the trail once. A year into our training. Fell right through that door two days after. Vesemir took one look at me, and told me I was late.