Ciri looked around herself, the metal container having fallen on the floor and discarded its contents everywhere and she let out a heavy sigh, saying something short and inappropriate in a language that sounded far too lyrical for the vulgar word and kicked at a pair of bundled socks that had landed near her feet.
She'd been told she couldn't leave, that the mists would stop any attempts at flight but Ciri had to try for herself. Apparently, that bit at least had been true. She had no desire to fight in someone else's war, especially when she didn't really know which side was the good one and which was the bad (and a small voice in the back of her head that sounded like Geralt was trying to tell her that it wasn't that simple). She'd done enough fighting for a while, she'd done enough running. She had just wanted to stop for a while, stop and maybe claim her birthright and make some real changes for the people in Temeria.
She cleared her throat, looking at the other woman who was more than a little startled at seeing Ciri appearing out of nowhere and she at least had the grace to look sheepish.
"I- uh- I'm sorry," she started, "I was trying to go home."