Bull huffed a laugh when Geralt told him to finish off whatever came down. He was vaguely concerned about being a rank mess after this, but it wouldn't necessarily be the first time he'd striped in the back yard to avoid offending Dorian with clothes covered in monster viscera.

He really did like helping Geralt hunt.

He adjusted his grip on the sword and held it ready, his good eye focused on the nest. It smelled foul, and he imagined the harpies, whatever they were, weren't going to be much better.

"Ready," he rumbled low.