Geralt gave a slow, reserved nod. It had been a very long time since anyone had asked. Possibly because they either knew, or they were too unobservant to notice.

He reached for his leather rucksack, searching for the tisane that would help.

"Shattered femur. Healed off. Wasn't a great chapter in my life."

Finding the packet of powder, leaves and roots, he dumped it into a copper cup and set it on the ashes at the very edge of the fire to boil.

"It's only magic if you consider a strong working knowledge of pharmacopoeia to be magic. Part of the training, at least a little bit. Had a good tutor once too."

The thought of Nenneke gave him a brief ache.