The Toussaint air is thick and humid, sweet with May pollen and heavy with moisture carried up from the Sansretour valley. When Geralt had been younger, the former would have clung to the inside of his nose and made his eyes water, but then the mutations had taken care of his allergies and hay fever hadn't troubled him since.
That had been a long time ago. No longer is he a sickly child, but a retired witcher currently lying in the arms of his beloved on a luxurious bed in an idyllic vineyard with their silk sheets discarded on the floor. There are worse ways to retire.
A gentle breeze provides relief for the humidity as it stirs the drapes hanging over the window and whispers over their bare skin. Geralt sighs contentedly, feeling the mass of Yennefer's curls resting on his shoulder and inclines his head towards hers. Lazily, he cracks an eye open and peers down at her sleeping form. Or perhaps she isn't sleeping, just resting her eyes. Either way, the sight of her brings a smile to his face.
His gaze drifts from Yen's face to the arm she has strewn across his body and up to his own chest, and notices his medallion quivering minutely. Not asleep, then.
"Yen," he murmurs softly, "Stop doing magic."
Yen heaves a languid sigh against his skin and eases her violet eyes open. "I'm not," she replies after a pause, letting the hand she has resting on his abdomen travel up towards his chest. "That's your heartbeat."
Geralt watches her fingers trace his ribs and then come to rest atop his sternum, and realises he can see them vibrate with that same slow, rhythmic pulse. "Oh." He feels foolish for not having recognised it.
Yen chuckles softly and leans in to press a tender kiss to his chest. "Don't be embarrassed. That's a magic all of its own."
"How so?"
"It's keeping you alive, Geralt. The way it carries on beating even after all this time. There must be some magic in that."
Geralt hums. "You think that's magic?"
"What else?" She tilts her head up to kiss him, and both of them feel the tiny flutter his heart gives in response.
Geralt smirks. "I still think there's some kind of witchcraft you're doing on me."
"Well," Yennefer says, her fingers affectionately tracing the pulse beneath his skin. "If there's any part my magic has to play in keeping your heart beating, I assure you, I don't ever intend to stop."