𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃, ciri drops down by the fire again, hopes to not disturb the meditating witcher. the moon is low and sleep escapes her. the cicada's song is hardly enough to distract her.
she tries to offer a smile, wavers, darkens. so ciri only nods, pressing her lips together. ❛ could say that. ❜ she draws a slim blade from her boot and starts carving away at a piece of bark. her nervousness hangs heavy in the air. ❛ what ... ❜ the words are mustered at last, not that the courage was lacking but perhaps the admittance to herself of this fear. ❛ what do you think he wants from me ? ❜ the name weighs too heavy to speak. it's stuck in her throat, lodged where the memory sits. she'd rather not speak it, trusts that, as per usual, geralt knows exactly her mind. knows that she has been unable to think of much else as they ride to vizima to see the emperor of nilfgaard.