He cleared his throat, and turned a light shade of pink anyway. It was good, that she didn't mind it. That she didn't consider him some lewd, beastly, base thing. He could control himself, of course, if need be. He wasn't a young witcher, fresh out on the Path anymore. But Nina had never voiced anything that would have made him think he had to, or ought to.

Geralt let out a long, low breath, feeling her nipples brush against the tight skin of his chest.

"The Elder Speech. Hen Llinge, the language of the Aen Seidhe. Elves. It means something like a pretty red bird. A cardinal. Do you have cardinals in Ravka?"