The Bull doesn't think there's anything else, but that doesn't mean that it's a bad question. He grunts and doesn't answer for a couple seconds, leaning forward under the low ceiling with his hands braced on the edge of the table and shifting around, going over everything he feels when he moves this part of him or that one, double checking his own injuries. The bad ones can hide from you, sometimes, especially if some other hurt is taking up more of your attention.

"Pretty sure that's it," he decides. "Everything else is just the surface stuff." The gouges, the scrapes covering most of him - they're going to hurt for a while, and itch like shit once they start healing, but they look worse than they are. The leg's the only real injury there. Considering how far he fell, every place inside his body that isn't screaming at him right now can probably be traced back to Dorian.

Kind of weird to think about - how the Bull owes everything to Dorian right now a handful of times over, and Dorian still expects the Bull to give him shit for it. It's a good way to spend this little break of theirs, trying to convince Dorian otherwise. It would be nice if he could do it.

He goes through the points, one at a time. "If I start lecturing you on magic, start checking my food for weird mushrooms. I know you too well to pull that kind of crap. You don't need me to start telling you how dangerous all those forces are. And considering the kind of things you just took out? I'm pretty sure you didn't disrespect them enough."

He watches Dorian a moment. "That really the kind of stuff you think I've got to say to you?"