"You think," one of Yennefer's eyebrows lifted up as the word hung there. She was not convinced. Though the young lady did have a brave face. Drier than she had been, she looked less like a drowned cat and more of a befuddled young lady. The lake beside them was eerily still, it's waters still held secrets as tight as a tomb. Yennefer was no longer wet but a chill attempted to cut down her spine and vibrate to her core. And what she felt there was--emptiness. Not an emotion or a feeling of longing, a distinct opening of some sort.

The next question shook her back to the present. "Oh, I am not of this place," she said haughtily. The words were flung out as if they were profane. The Continent had it's shitty places. This could be a part of it were it not so...foreign. The strange creatures and the tree, the lake that didn't seem to have a name. "...I'm still grasping wherever the hell this is."

She herself does not have a satchel to fuss over. Yennefer stepped up after the girl--Lily. Her extended hand was not offered for a clutch or a kiss, not with her palm extended. Men usually shook hands in greeting or to strike a bargain. What a simple, familiar guesture. She returns it promptly, not shying from a new experience however odd. "Yennefer." She nearly completes her title but given that Lily is rather foreign all over, for the first time she realizes that perhaps Vengerberg might seem like a made up place, a child's babble not the capitol of the kingdom of Aedirn.

The sorceresses hands were soft, the dainty hands of a lady. For living such a vivid and complicated life, her hands did not show a fraction of the work she had put forward. Be it chaos or simply herself, her touch has always been cool. "I'm not dying here." By choice and out of sheer spite.