[ Geralt ignores the watch nagging; as if either of them are so ingrained to its use that a message would be thought of or expected. He's rolled back into Kaer Morhen with no warning a hundred times in worse shape than this.

Speaking of time in Kaer Morhen, there's no shirking away from nudity as he undresses, as they've all seen it before. He has a particularly nasty bruise running from his knee up to his middle that he takes a moment to look at - moves his knee joint, is briefly somewhere else, mentally. He remembers when he was practically a cripple, and the years after, assuming no full recovery was possible.

Internal sigh. ]

Yeah, went well. [ Dry, tired. ] Found the rape basements beneath the 'orphanages' where monsters were being used as breeding stock to make new slaves. Fucking peachy.