You will, she thinks sadly. She herself has never found someone but lost them again too soon after. She thinks of that day; the farmyard, the witcher who ran to meet her, her small arms around his neck, her soft cheek against his grizzled one.

We'll be together now, won't we? Say it, Geralt! Forever! Say it!

Forever, Ciri.

"I hope you are right," is all she says, gently.