Geralt had been lost in his own thoughts when he was ambushed by a barrage of berries not native to the South. For a moment, he wondered if he was losing his mind – but then he heard the comfortingly familiar sound of Ciri laughing.
"Get out of your own head, Witcher. You're too old to be doing this on reflexes alone."
"Yeah, well, wasn't expecting death by fruit today," Geralt complained as he picked a raspberry off of his lapel and tossed it into his mouth.
"Are you almost through with the contract?"
"No contract. Just patrolling the area."
Ciri snorted. "I won't even start on how many of your own rules of the trade you've just broken."
"Different circumstances," Geralt muttered sadly.
"If you won't get out of your head, will you at least tell me what's in it?" Something in Ciri's voice soothed him; she sounded cheerful, so maybe he should be, too.
"You were there. You saw what happened. I'm just trying to put it behind me."
"By patrolling the area like some silly knight-errant?"
"I am on their payroll."
"I will still try to respect you."
Geralt gave Ciri a playful shove.
"Are you here to convince me to come home? Did she send you?"
"I'm here to keep you company," Ciri answered only one of the questions. "Like old times."
"Like old times," Geralt repeated with his first real smile in what felt like weeks. "Okay, then, Witcheress. Let's see what you've got."