Talk:Lucienne/@comment-47.208.239.185-20180623024211/@comment-37050166-20180929155524

Amazing catch, agreed. Baptism of Fire

The girl with the plaits raised herself onto her hands and knees, stood up, stag-gered, and then tried ineffectually to pull down her torn shift with trembling hands. The Witcher was astonished to see that she was in no way similar to Ciri, when a moment earlier he would have sworn they were twins. The girl wiped her face with an uncoordinated movement, and moved unsteadily towards the cottage. Straight through the puddle of muck. ‘Hey, wait,’ Milva called. ‘Hey, you… Need any help? Hey!’ The girl didn’t even look towards her. She stumbled over the threshold, almost falling, then grabbed the door jamb. And slammed the door behind her.

‘Human gratitude knows no boundaries,’ the dwarf commented. Milva jerked around, her face hardened. ‘What does she have to be grateful for?’ ‘Exactly,’ the Witcher added. ‘What for?’ ‘For the marauders’ horses,’ Zoltan said, not lowering his gaze. ‘She can slaughter them for their meat; she won’t have to kill the cow. She’s clearly resistant to small-pox and now she doesn’t have to fear hunger. She’ll survive. And in a few days, when she gathers her thoughts, she’ll un-derstand that thanks to you she avoided a longer frolic and these cottages being burnt to the ground. Let’s get out of here before the plague blows our way… Hey, Witcher, where are you going? To get a token of gratitude?’