“What year is it?” “One thousand three hundred…” she said, raising her astonished eyes. “One thousand three hundred and seventy-three after the Revival.” “If so—” the white-haired man wiped his face with his hand in his sleeve “—Geralt of Rivia has been dead for many years. He died a hundred and five years ago. But I think he would be happy, if… He’d be happy if people remembered him after all those hundred and five years. If they remembered who he was. Why, even if they remembered the name of his horse. Yes, I think, he would be happy… If he could know it. Come. I’ll see you off.”
