[He snorts. Yes, he'll remind her later. But as she feels nostalgic for blankets and nights of these firework things, he feels it the same for long nights on the Path, he and the Witcher alone, gazing up at the stars with a rabbit roasting on the fire. The howls of wolves far in the distance.
It's not quite the same now. It had been so quiet then, outside of insects and wildlife, the fire popping. Here he prepares himself, steadying for whatever it is that's meant to scare him. A whistle sounds through the air, making the horses lift their heads upwards.
Then it explodes.
A burst of color soars across the night sky in an explosion almost reminiscent of the one that gave him the scar on his arm. And though the first one makes him jump, startling him, he rises up on his hands to stare. More incomprehensible pops of color -- and these, he recognizes, shaped and colored like flowers. The music floods in and, honestly, the combination of both is almost too much. Though he cups his hands over his ears, he never takes his eyes from the sky. Waiting for the next one to go off.
It's beautiful. Like an explosion of stars, of twinkling candle lights, falling through the air. Colors he's rarely ever seen on anything in his life, brighter than the moon.
He's beaming, too, his mouth hanging open. There's no words to describe it, really, when it comes down to it. They're simply... breathtaking.]
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It's not quite the same now. It had been so quiet then, outside of insects and wildlife, the fire popping. Here he prepares himself, steadying for whatever it is that's meant to scare him. A whistle sounds through the air, making the horses lift their heads upwards.
Then it explodes.
A burst of color soars across the night sky in an explosion almost reminiscent of the one that gave him the scar on his arm. And though the first one makes him jump, startling him, he rises up on his hands to stare. More incomprehensible pops of color -- and these, he recognizes, shaped and colored like flowers. The music floods in and, honestly, the combination of both is almost too much. Though he cups his hands over his ears, he never takes his eyes from the sky. Waiting for the next one to go off.
It's beautiful. Like an explosion of stars, of twinkling candle lights, falling through the air. Colors he's rarely ever seen on anything in his life, brighter than the moon.
He's beaming, too, his mouth hanging open. There's no words to describe it, really, when it comes down to it. They're simply... breathtaking.]