Ciri's eyes are red, but they light up at Kim's words. "Geralt!"

Fierce joy bubbles up in her like water from a spring. "That isn't Avallac'h, that's Geralt, the Witcher."

Her mind helpfully supplies a flashes of memories: him, smiling slightly at Lambert's jokes, sitting near the fire with Eskel, deep in quiet conversation with Vesemir in the cold great hall of Kaer Morhen, dappled in shadow riding Roach along a forest path. The last time she felt safe. She heaves a breath. "If he is alive, I am relieved."

(She'd managed to free him from the Hunt, but...after that, his steps were a mystery to her.)