"My thoughts aren't loud," Lambert says, loudly, frowning at Cole as though he's done him a personal affront. Though when the spirit points his necklace out, he snorts, automatically bringing up a hand to touch it.

It's vibrating, of course. It's never stopped humming since they got here.

"A lot of things make someone a witcher." A lot of pain, a lot of blood, but the enchantment of the ball smothers those memories, smoothes out the edges so Lambert's left frowning at an empty space where he knows something (anger) should be before he brushes it off. Wherever his train of thought was going, it's gone.