[ K spoke.... carefully. It reminded Geralt immediately and strongly of Regis; and with the realization came a pang of homesickness, almost loneliness. He took another, slower sip of whine, exhaling through his nostrils. ]

Look at me; I'm not young. And my work was... a rough trade. Ceaseless, pitiless, and unthanked. I didn't often have time that wasn't... working. And more than half of those were spent rotting in a cell somewhere, thinking I'd finally outlived what use I had.

Whenever death got close? I always remembered those moments. The ones that were just... mine. That I'd gotten to spent with someone I cared about.

[ He, too, swirled the liquid in the glass, and looked up toward the younger man, lips tautening. Not quite a frown. ]

But you've never felt that before? Do you... like your work?