She rumbles a quiet laugh of her own, flattered even though she was expecting it.
"Most people are idiots," she points out. "Also, in the interest of full honesty, I did not know you were a witcher when I found you bleeding to death in the middle of a pile of dead wargs." It was fairly obvious once she got close enough to actually look at him, but he could have been just a simple farmer caught in the crossfire of a warg attack. Not that it would have made much of a difference to her. She would have still stopped to try and staunch his wounds if he were a peasant, even though she knew it would probably be a wasted effort.
"Still. Glad you didn't leave me there." He says, kissing the back of her neck. He curls his body more securely around her and heaves a pleasantly exhausted sigh.
"As am I," she agrees after a moment's silence, hugging his arm across her middle. His sigh ruffles the hair that still sticks to her neck, causing a shiver to trip its way down her spine, making her curl into him and huff out a quiet breath through her nose.
"If ever you come through the Mark again," she starts, trailing her fingers across the back of his hand up to the hard bones of his wrist, "I would not find it presumptuous to be called upon."
"Yeah?" It's impossible to hide the grin in his voice. "I think I'd like to call on you. If nothing else, I owe you for the horse. But I can think of plenty of other reasons." He turns his hand to playfully squeeze one of her breasts. "If our paths cross again, I'd gladly share and ale and a bed with you."
She can hear that grin of his as easily as if she were looking right at him, and it makes her smile in return. It's easy to lean back against his chest, to let her hand slide down to cover his on her breast, keeping it in place as she turns her head to look at him out of the corner of her eye.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"Most people are idiots," she points out. "Also, in the interest of full honesty, I did not know you were a witcher when I found you bleeding to death in the middle of a pile of dead wargs." It was fairly obvious once she got close enough to actually look at him, but he could have been just a simple farmer caught in the crossfire of a warg attack. Not that it would have made much of a difference to her. She would have still stopped to try and staunch his wounds if he were a peasant, even though she knew it would probably be a wasted effort.
no subject
no subject
"If ever you come through the Mark again," she starts, trailing her fingers across the back of his hand up to the hard bones of his wrist, "I would not find it presumptuous to be called upon."
no subject
no subject
"Good. I will look forward to it."