[ At some point he blinked, masking deep surprise. His hands fell away from the wine, the table, and folded in his lap while he leaned against the back of the chair, watching Maia's composure, the set of his shoulders, how his eyes focused, how the tips of his teeth flashed when he spoke more swiftly and with conviction.

Not for the first time, he was reminded of Regis, with his careful manners and perfect enunciation and kind eyes. It hooked him by the heart, and for a moment, even as Maia's words faded, he said nothing to fill the space of the silence which had become... no longer awkward, but companionable. ]

Do you write?

[ A rhetorical question, he went on immediately, smiling, setting his elbows on the table. His arms folded, bridging together. ]

I hope you write. You... have a lot of good to say. And I don't think I'll be the first, or last person to be impressed. You're...

[ Geralt paused, attention going briefly inward, trying to hunt down in his own mind the words he wanted to say. 'Observant' seemed too small a word; 'careful and considered' without enough depth. ]

Wise, I think. I suspect you see more than most people.