The man's (who she assumed was the owner of this humble abode) eyes opened in turn, no doubt his unconsciously aware of her penetrating gaze, and met Ciri's. A mild blush spread across his cheeks (almost imperceptible to the untrained eye) as his brow furrowed in concern.<br/><br/>The witcher in training shook her head.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ff00">"I... don't believe so,"</span>she replied, glancing around again.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ff00">"Where am I?"</span>she asked, sitting up. Her body was sore, no doubt bruised, but her years of training taught her nothing was broken--thank her fortune.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ff00">"How did I end up... here?"</span>she inquired, never too bold to speak her mind.<br/><br/>Her torn white blouse slipped off one delicately boned shoulder as she shifted her position and Ciri reached up a gloved hand to pull it back into place. It slipped again. She sighed inwardly. Curse her malnutrition.