In the arms of wolves
How they've gotten into this position, Cirilla is not quite sure. At the start of the evening, they had all stumbled out of the dining hall with bellies stuffed of roast beef, salty, oily potatoes, sweet carrots and parsnip, thickly cut fresh bread and big slices of the blueberry pies eskel had been baking that afternoon.
She had slumped down next to Geralt on the lumpy couch, her belly so full that even a crumb would make her explode, she's sure of it. It's luxurious, however, having gone weeks without a proper meal to having this. She'll pick up extra chores tomorrow to keep Vesemir sweet and show her appreciation.
He had been in a similar state of fullness, eyes closing in bliss as the warmth from the fireplace licks his skin. He was warm and sleepy, and had spent the day outside with his girl collecting all the winter vegetables that grew on the surrounding grounds.
But now they've wound up laying on one of the settees looking rather cozy. Geralt is on his side, hus back to the backrest, and is currently using the girl as a teddy bear of sorts. She's mirroring and facing him, oh so very comfortable laying in his arms.
She's warm from the fireplace and cozy in her protectors arms, she's full from dinner and soothed by the laughs of her new family.
And with that, she falls asleep, contented once more.
