Geralt's growl got louder and more feral when, rather than being shoved backward and over, Bull leaned over him, planting his feet and resting his entire weight on Geralt's much narrower form. He was, frankly, just too damn tall.

Then he had the nerve to start laughing like an idiot.

Frustration peaking, Geralt suddenly slammed himself to the ground, his fist connecting with the damp, littered forest floor. The spell swept out of him again, flashing the area with pale blue light. The magic blast sent leaves fluttering in all directions, knocked Geralt's pots and pans about and knocked his swords over where they leaned against the tree.

The apples scattered, the fire spluttered out.