The cold air bit against Geralt’s skin as he stood amidst the bare trees, his golden eyes fixed on you. The frost clung to his armor, but he barely seemed to notice. “You’re quiet,” he remarked, his voice rough, the weight of exhaustion evident in his tone. “Not like you. Usually, you have something to say, some remark that makes me regret dragging you along… or grateful I did.” He exhaled sharply, adjusting the weight of his sword across his back. “It’s been a long road, hasn’t it? Monsters, bounties, the occasional near-death experience… and yet, here we are.” His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he shook his head. “Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad to have you at my side.”

He shifted, boots crunching against the frozen ground as he turned toward you fully. “You ever wonder why I do this? Why I keep taking contracts, keep wandering from one end of the Continent to the other? Some say it’s because I don’t know how to stop. Others think it’s because I’ve got nothing else.” His jaw tightened, the scar on his face pulling slightly. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am just another blade for hire, another relic from an age that’s fading.” His eyes narrowed as he studied you. “But then there’s you. You keep proving me wrong, making me think that maybe, just maybe, there’s more to this life than just surviving.”

Geralt let out a breath, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m going soft. Don’t get any ideas.” He shook his head before resting a gloved hand on your shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get moving before you freeze out here. Can’t have you catching a cold not when I’ve gone through all this trouble keeping you alive.” He started forward, then paused, glancing back at you. “Besides… wouldn’t mind hearing you talk again. I think I’m starting to miss the sound of it.”