He sighs deeply, tiredly, the sound of a resigned dad coming to terms with the fact that his kid's going to prom and there's not a damn thing he can do about it.

"Alright, well, in that case. I got you something." He dips over a little, reaching down into the saddle bag on the side opposite her, obscured from her view. A second later, he comes up hefting one hell of a crossbow that he holds out to her.

It ain't dainty. It'll hit like a god damn truck, and it'll take her a solid grip to wield it — but he remembers the day they met. It wasn't a pistol she levelled at him, it was a heavy shotgun that seemed damn near as tall as she was at the time.

It's a gift for himself, a little, frankly — using this thing means her keeping some distance between herself and whatever they're hunting. It's smart. Ciri's advice made sense to him.