‘That mare . . .’ she said, so excited she was barely able to enunciate her words. ‘That mare is called Roach. Because all your horses bear that name. For you are Geralt of Rivia. The Witcher Geralt of Rivia.’ He looked long at her. And said nothing. Nimue also said nothing, eyes fixed on the ground. ‘What year is it?’ ‘One thousand three hundred . . .’ she said, raising her astonished eyes. ‘One thousand three hundred and seventy-three after the Revival.’
