"Yeah. Every winter." The dutiful son, turning up to brave the cold and the quiet, to tend to the vast and crumbling wounds of his home, to mediate almost hundred years worth of disputes between the last four witchers of the wolf school. Be everyone's steady, sure, predictable Eskel. He shakes his head. "But after? We work on our own, but sometimes I'll travel with another witcher from home, split up when we get to a city. Sometimes you cross paths, out in the world. Sometimes not everybody comes home for the winter, turn up in the middle of next hunting season with some story about supposedly getting snowed in someplace. With or without somebody." He shrugs. "It's complicated though: a lot going on with my brothers while I'm out here in the world just trying to do my job." So, still lonely, in a way, even when they're all sitting around drinking by the fire, when he's surrounded by the only people who don't shrink from his face, from his voice, from the inhuman yellow of his gaze. "Hell, staying here with you for a while, to ride out this storm might be the craziest thing I've done since I hooked up with that succubus." He attempts a grin.