#lethallxn

It was an accident, one Theven should have avoided easier than most others. Instead, a simple sparring match with that of the Dalish sister turned into a frantic haul back to camp, a shout for bandages and treated water.As if an arrow in his shoulder truly needed such attention.A sharp hiss is pulled from clenched teeth, hands trying to carefully bend the metal around the wound. There's a curse or two, a sudden sharp smell, and a tear of cloth. He tries to open his eyes to pay attention, but even Wynne's touch, usually soothing, stings. Automatically, as if bringing forth a memory, an instinct, the elf grabs the nearest hand....Which happens to be the third elf in the party."Ma--" He starts, Dalish tongue taking over. The magic flowing through him isn't helping. In truth, it feels like it's tearing, clawing, through him. Teeth mash into his flesh, eyes screw shut, and Theven resists the scream that bubbles in his throat. At least, he tries. Until the arrow begins to move.He's thrashing, screaming. Too many hands, too many voices. His hand grips tighter to the other, pleading without words. And, thank the Creators, she understands. She understands.The others leave at her soft words, and Theven relaxes as much as he can. Wynne must have slipped her something, however, for as soon as she grasps the arrow's shaft, he's out, finally free from the pain.Not before muttering a quiet "Thank you", that is.