NON-SEXUAL ACTS OF INTIMACY: accepting.
Pain explodes behind Bellara's eyes instantaneously when the massive Hurlock throws her like a rag doll and she tastes warm copper on her tongue. It had been her fault, really, too distracted with firing off arrows at the blight boils that would keep spitting out Darkspawn lest they were destroyed. A split second of distraction was more than enough time to let the monster grab her by the torso, claws digging and piercing through leather and skin, enough to hurl her clear across the former meadow.
"Shit," she mutters to herself. Her body doesn't want to obey commands. It rises sluggishly, as if rusty and grating. Neve's voice calling out registers distantly in her mind. Where was she? Bellara looks up and sees the blurry approaching Hurlock and the hair-raising screech that echoes through her bones. Was it one, or two of them? One, two, one, two, one, two, one, tw—her hand reaches for her arrows and she finds none. They must have been scattered in the air.
Panic and bile sting the back of Bellara's throat. There's the ominous dark purple charge of a Fade ability glowing at her gauntlet but she's not going to be fast enough. Instinct takes hold and all she can do is put her arms up to shield the incoming smash of a hammer—
She opens her eyes. Neve stands tall and protective over her, like a statue, arms outstretched with the teal remnants of glacial magic. The Hurlock hovers less than an inch away absolutely frozen solid. Mythal'enaste, Neve looked powerful. Docktown was so lucky to have her. Pushing against the rock wall behind her to stagger upwards, Bellara's about to say thank you and maybe something else incredibly stupid—
Their only warning is a subtle crack in the ice shell, but it's enough that Bellara catches it from the corner of her eye. The Hurlock shatters its encasement and the hammer comes swinging once more towards Neve this time—Bellara bodily shoves (half-falls, in her case) both them out of the path and immediately twists her arm back to blast a massive Fade portal that sucks the Hurlock into the ether.
It closes just as fast. There's no sound except for Bellara's harsh breathing, the niggling thought that her bun is falling out, and that she should really roll off of Neve.
"Are you okay?" The Veiljumper asks first, worriedly, propping herself up with a wince. Despite her obvious injury, she scans Neve first, her eyebrows pressing together in the middle to make a worry line. "I should've—" Bellara stops, inhales, and shakes her head. No. She wouldn't beat herself up over it. No. This wasn't Cyrian all over again. She wouldn't have let it get that far. Never again.
Her eyes open again, earnest and warm. "I'm glad you're okay, Neve."
