They landed, backward rather than forward, and Geralt couldn't help but think it had been intentionakl, the way an angry or frightened horse would kick the rider, landing on them.

It was hard. Geralt could hear his bones creek, but he'd been crushed by larger, and his body survived it. He still coughed. The hit, along with the meal and the booze, gave him acid reflux. It only made him more worked up.

He struggled under Bull's bulk for a few seconds, before gathering up every ounce of strength he had, and throwing him off. He wouldn't throw very far. It was still enough to give Geralt freedom again.

"Sonnuvabitch."