The fiend gave a deep bellow when the maul hit its flank, sending it staggering to the side. Its antlers caught on the branches of a young pine, shattering the trunk with a loud crack.

It stunned the creature for a half a second -- the witcher as well. Geralt paused to shake his head and rid himself of the ringing.

It turned its great horns on the Bull, ready to make a charge for him. Geralt made a grab for the silver sword on his back, grateful for gloved fingers. He wasn't certain he could handle the blade, under the circumstances, without pain. Silver for monsters. The thought was stomach-churningly ironic.

He leaped for it, turning a fast pirouette, thin sword a razor.

The smell of death pressed in on him.