Geralt gave a snort at the care, as if he didn't need it, which wasn't entirely true. Bull was right, however. He felt flushed and cozy and his limbs were beginning to drag, even with his strange physiology. Bull's face gave a swim on the other side of the fire.

Standing from his spot on his log near the fire, he reached into the thick pile of blankets and skins he used for sleeping at camp. Geralt picked two of the largest out of the mess and tossed them to Bull.

He didn't have to ask if Bull would sleep; he wouldn't. He'd made that clear, confessing to Geralt about his dreams and his traumatic wake-up.

Geralt, for his worth, appreciated the chance to have someone watching over his rest.

He shuffled the bed around until it was, in fact, very close to a nest, before sitting himself down slowly in it, with a slightly stiff leg.

"There's food in the lockbox." So the bears didn't get it. "There are books in the rucksack."

Despite appearances, Geralt was an avid reader. It helped that he needed no reading light, only an elbow to prop up on, late into the night.