Season of Storms (The Witcher, #8)

by Andrzej Sapkowski

nihilistic

Furthermore, I hear post-coital tristesse intruding on you. A natural state, indeed, it affects all the higher creatures.

ephebe.

chanterelles

scallywag,

non compos mentis, eo ipso

impune est admittendum quod per furorem alicuius accidit.

“What’s wrong with him?” “Shards of nasal bones in the brain. And probably several splinters in his eyeballs.”