Wordlessly, Ciri nods. Suffocated is only part of it, but it's the safest word to choose from. Or, at least, it feels like it is. Acknowledging the frustration more directly feels too close to acknowledging the helplessness any more than she already has not because of a fear of it being exploited—even with lingering mistrust, she doesn't think Yennefer would do that—but because acknowledging it only makes it burn and sting and itch all the worse beneath her skin.

"He's almost written back to you." The princess looks to Yennefer. She knows she shouldn't meddle. Geralt hasn't when it comes to Ciri's relationship with Yennefer aside from his hovering about. But she's already somewhat done that in pointing it out to Geralt earlier as part of her argument. If he's wanting to talk to Yennefer, then that has to be a sign they can be given a bit more space, doesn't it? Geralt hadn't agreed. Or rather, he hadn't said anything to that point. Just her name said in that tone that told her she was speaking out of turn mingled with the sort of exhaustion that has to come from all this division between the two people meant to protect, teach, and guide her. "A couple of times, actually."

It's possible Yennefer will say the same as Geralt with more words (or even the same amount), but it's also possible not.