"Dirtharama." The admonition slips loose unthinkingly, spoken as cleanly as her teachers once had. May you learn. Bow lays to the side, abandoned for as long as it would take to set the mage's leg. Still, it was good — that he would not need to be carried back to where Wynne was for healing magic, by his own admission.
She hears the rumbling of rock, an unmistakable grind that would be Shale lumbering through the now-quiet battleground. It would not be a threat, and the tension to Sharrah's shoulders ease just slightly, calloused fingers pressing against Behni's bare skin. That his bone had not fractured through the skin was another good sign.
— She remembers one hunter, just a few years older than she, taking a spill through a part of the forest and meeting the bottom with a leg that had seemed to have picked up another joint in it, bone sticking out of flesh and weeping blood like one pours water from a bowl. He had needed the help of Keeper Marethari and one of Sabrae's mage-healers to set the bone, and he still had not walked right upon it for another year after. —
"You're not bleeding. It's— that's good."
He catches her by surprise with the term of endearment. Pauses for a moment, eyes seeking anywhere but his ( biting down on the inside of her mouth, willing her vision to remain clear ). Kin.
( at times he still seems to strike her an adolescent, having not yet received vallaslin, despite knowing better, despite knowing that they were not of dalish life the way she was. and times like this reminded it is not so simple )
"Perhaps you'd consider not stepping directly into the fray next time... lethallen."