Geralt agreed. They were dragon horns, long and proud. Not just the antlers of a forktail or the curling ram's horns of a wyvern, but a proper head of pointed, magnificent dragon horns. Geralt had only seen a few dragons in his life. Aside from the two golden dragons he'd met, Saskia and Three Jackdaws, he had presumed they'd basically been extinct from shortly after Vesemir's early days. Far before Geralt had ever started witchering.

"They're beautiful," he said honestly. He wasn't flirting, not particularly. Only observing what, to Geralt, seemed patently to be a fact.