Geralt slid his food aside briefly, to look for a drink that wasn't alcohol. He still felt that pleasant warmth, a swimming in his steadiness and the world around him.

He smiled, unbidden, at the Bull. It was a very small and gentle thing, as if it were his first, as they often were.

"Sounds romantic. Too bad Dandelion isn't here. Silly skald would already be composing the ballad."