She crosses her legs beneath her and reaches to undo the belt which straps Zirael to her back, then unsheathes the bright blade to check it over for any damage.

Slouched on the wooden stool, Geralt grunts. "Guess not all of Vesemir's teachings've receded into oblivion," he says, offering her a soft cloth with which she carefully polishes the blade.

"'A witcher can forget to eat, to drink, to breathe, even, but a witcher must never, ever forget to care for his blade,'" she recites, a smile on her lips as she glances at Lan Wangji. "You've met him now, I suppose?"