[ Sleep is the truth, but she moves on quick and Geralt, already prone to not answering questions in the first place, simply leaves his thoughts unspoken. ]

This feels like a trap to make me do your chores. [ Horizon chores, so to speak. He leans back against the nearest surface and plucks the petals. If she is expecting him to relay the yeses and nos out loud, she'll be disappointed—but he does pick each petal dutifully until only the yellow center remains. She'll have to count along herself or trust him to be honest.

He spins the stem idly between his fingers. Not holding back, is she? He seems to give it some genuine thought before he finally shrugs. ]

The truth? I believe it's yet to come. [ There are years left ahead of him. Perhaps even decades. Depends on how fast he stays on his feet. Ciri's been keeping things from him, he knows, and he's little doubt it's to do with what lies ahead of him. Something she knows and he does not. Something he suspects he will regret.

He pulls a flower from the grass and hands it to her. ] Why did you really ask me to play this game with you?