Ciri lowered her small head of mouse-gray hair, struggling to control her horse as she neared Dandelion.
"I'm sorry, Dandelion."
She said.
"I shouldn't have snapped at you just now. Because at least you tried your best to help, while I could only watch from behind."
"That girl... Her whole family were subjects of Sintra. They cleared the woodland here, paid taxes on time, and lived honestly. I believe I am responsible for them."
"Ah, just a deposed princess who self-righteously thinks she bears responsibility... It's funny, before the invasion of Sintra by the black-armored army, I never even thought about them living in my country."
As she spoke, Ciri's voice choked up.
Geralt, who was leading the way on horseback, slightly turned his head back.
And Dandelion, the flamboyantly dressed poet, used his gentle voice as if soothing a child, gently patting Ciri's shoulder.
"Don't say anymore. I don't mind, child."
"No." Ciri shook her head with tears.
