Big enough that it's another instance of better to be seen to be believed. [ The non-answer Drift gave was partially out of sparring himself from more scrutinizing questions and simply because he was too exhausted to remember how measurements worked in meters. After all, he had managed to bring that full bottle down to nearly half before she showed up.

The conversation found a lull as they observed one another between sips of their respective rotgut. Drift reflexively flexed his hand, mindful even in his condition not to let her bird bone-thin fingers get pinched in the joints. Yennefer's forearm had turned when he did, revealing her inner wrist. A slash of barely perceptible white ran diagonally across the slender field of fawn-colored skin. He stared at it amount before registering what he was looking at. Not the context or any greater meaning than what was directly before him, only the mark itself. ]

Our species can't keep scars. [ Drift said, thinking aloud and letting the inertia of reduced inhibitions keep that train of thought moving ] Not unless we really want to. We can completely change our frames so many times in our lives that it's virtually impossible to hold onto anything other than our most fundamental parts. [ Eyes narrow, a frown — he realizes something he hasn't thought about in years, decades, centuries, or maybe even millennia. ] I don't think I even remember the body I was born into.