He’d face planted when he fell, which had hurt a bit, but he assumed he was fine. He laughed and rolled over to his back, hands instinctively going to where the bullet in his gut would be, to check that it hadn’t somehow shot out of him. But all was fine.
At least with his bullet. The ice had caused a cut on his forehead, and the black sludge of old blood oozed slowly from it. "All good!" he still said, unaware of the head wound.