It feels like one of the fiend's horns has finally found purchase in his gut; he sways, slightly, as if taking a physical blow as the dwarves all shake their heads, grim. "Must've passed shortly before we found her," murmurs one, as they quietly move past a stricken Geralt.

"Let's wait by the boat," another says, quietly, as they solemnly walk past. He hardly notices their passing, reeling as he is from their words.