Whitebark Stream verpassen

She quieted, though her eyes were wide and glassy with emotion as she drew back to look upon her father. When she'd found him at the riverbank those weeks ago, Ciri had thought he seemed to have aged considerably, compared to the Mahler who'd visited her on Moonspear with Winter's approach. Time had changed them both in so many ways; she was grown now, taller and leaner, no longer with the body of a child. She'd convinced herself that perhaps he'd always seemed this frail, for the saw the world very differently now than before.

His assurance did little to soften her worry, but Ciri bit back the voice of concern as the gargoyle pulled himself upright and carried on with a new topic. He didn't want to talk about it, clearly, and since she'd been unwilling to dicuss her time in Brokilon she did not challenge his decision. Instead she moved in alongside him again, as close as he would allow, eager to support despite her slight stature.

"Who are you looking for?" The swallow asked softly, curious, though she was on edge - preparing herself for another coughing fit. "Do you think the lion might've got them?"

You are the lion cub of Sagtannet, said her mother's voice, echoed in her thoughts; the swallow bit back the memory before it could conjure a golden face in her mind's eye.