Lambert, of course, doesn't immediately recognize her. Witchers may age slower than humans, but years still pass for them like anyone else, and when the last memory you have of someone is when they were ten years old, he could be forgiven for taking a moment for the recognition to kick in.

"Ciri?" Though his voice and expression are both bewildered to start, a genuine grin of delight is beginning to creep across his his face as he steps closer towards her, flicking the barely touched cigar aside. Of course, he looks different from what she remembers -- taller, more animalistic, touched by magic -- but he could say the same of her!

"How long have you been out here?" There's something wrong about this, he knows that in the back of his mind -- some very good reasons why she shouldn't be here at all -- but trying to grasp them is impossible right now.