The impermanence of death in this place is an odd thing. He's aware for Dean, it isn't unusual. For Geralt, it is. He's not ever known death to be anything but the end. She takes you by the hand and that's all. There are no other realms to speak of where souls go to continue their existence. People do not return.

Then this world came along.

Jo is not the only who he's aware met their fate. Julie was first to confess it to him a year ago. And more and more, he suspects something similar lies in his future years ahead. Something Ciri is reluctant to speak to him about and which he has learned not to ask.

What does it mean when grieving comes to an abrupt halt?

He falls silent again, conversations with him rarely extending past a scant few minutes. There are things he could say—about the nature of death, about the age he learned there are worse things that await and yet somehow the fear of death lingers strongest (because you can survive the worst; you can't survive death)—but he's said too much about himself as it is.

So he sits. Tries to think if there's another option instead of endless walking. They've tried going forward. What if they go down? Up?