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He
embraced her. And touched her. And found her. Yennefer, in some astonishing way
hard and soft at the same time, sighed loudly. The words they had uttered broke
off, perished among the sights and quickened breaths, ceased to have any
meaning and were dissipated. So they remained silent, and focused on the search
for one another, on the search for the truth. They searched for a long time,
lovingly and very thoroughly, fearful of needless haste, recklessness and
nonchalance. They searched vigorously, intensively and passionately, fearful of
needless self-doubt and indecision. They searched cautiously, fearful of
needless tactlessness.
They
found one another, conquered their fear and, a moment later, found the truth,
which exploded under their eyelids with a terrible, blinding clarity, tore
apart the lips pursed in determination with a moan. Then time shuddered
spasmodically and froze, everything vanished, and touch became the only
functioning sense.
An
eternity passed, reality returned and time shuddered once more and set off
again, slowly, ponderously, like a great fully laden cart. Geralt looked through
the window. The moon was still hanging in the sky, although what had just
happened ought in principle to have struck it down from the sky.
Andrzej
Sapkowski, TIME
OF CONTEMPT
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| The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt - Geralt and Yennefer making love in Kaer Morhen. |
