He gasped for air, dropping the gun about the same time she grabbed his head. He fought it for half a second until he realized how hard they were banking toward the ground, and then he let her do it.
It was not a pleasant landing. He hit the ground hard and rolled, just stopping himself with his hands before he went straight over the edge of the hill and rolled all the way down.
He rolled over onto his back, eyes shut, still getting his breath back. Getting the wind knocked out of him when he'd hit the ground hadn't helped his throat much. Still coughing, he patted himself down. His knife was still in his pocket by some miracle, currently poking into his hip and what was likely a spreading bruise over about half his body. He pulled it out, flicking it open before dropping his head back again.
Okay. He'd get up and slice her to pieces. But in another minute. "Mom," he said, and coughed. "I don't want to get up."