Awareness of ones surrounding did not mean one had to jump at every noise. Coming from the world that Ciri had, this Scotland island and Earth realm felt tame. She did not know what Diana's background was though, so said nothing in the way of her attention to the snaping branch. "There are so many that have been here far longer than I. Some days merely blend together with previous and others seem to move so slowly. My realm had several wars happening and monsters were common enough for a Witcher to make money from hunting them."
Ciri's hand rested on the hilt of the sword, a gleam of silver in the sliver of moonlight. "My father gave it to me for my birthday," she said sheepishly. "Sometimes things appear in your room, weapons or objects from your world. Geralt ended up with two swords, so he had Sir Stark engrave this own for me as a gift."
Releasing the sword from its sheath, Ciri held it for the light to catch; the word Zireael etched into its blade. "Every Witcher must have a silversword to use against the monsters of our world. It hurts them more than steel."