Chapter Text
Fallow Mire is as miserably wet as always but the corpses' swords are sharper than Dorian originally anticipated. He grimaces in pain when the blood spurts from his forearm destroying his new robes. Then he slumps on his ass to the ground.
Marvelous.
Bull crouches to observe his bleeding arm and turns and twists it with careful hands. He purses the scarred lips when his keen eye analyzes the state of Dorian's wound. Cole creeps worriedly in the background, which is a bit unnerving to be honest, and Trevelyan has found a remotely dry stump to sit on. She is currently examining worryingly her blades like nothing is out of the ordinary.
And she calls Dorian her best friend.
”It's not deep,” Bull finally announces after a pause, raising his head to look Dorian in the eyes. ”I believe you'll survive,” he adds looking completely serious.
”And I was ready to say my goodbyes to this dreadful land,” Dorian sighs dramatically but hisses when a sharp pain lingers around the cut.
Bull smiles kindly when Dorian demands,
”Why does it hurt so much if I'm not dying?”
Cole taps Bull's shoulder with a bandage and Bull takes it with a warm nod on his way. Cole beams as Bull starts wrapping Dorian's arm into a nice little package. The way he focuses only on Dorian shouldn't be endearing.
”You Vints are too delicate,” he jokes quietly and grins when Dorian throws on his best fake scowl.
Bull's rough fingertips are gentle – almost too gentle – when they tighten the strapping. He caress the arm fondly with his enormous thumb and presses a kiss to the aching spot. It's Bull's own version of a healing spell, completely foolish, but it never fails to make Dorian feel a little better.
”All good, big guy?”
The look on Bull's eye should be illegal to make at a smelling bog with two party members nearby. Dorian wants to leap in to Bull's arms and stay there.
He's breathless and his throat is oddly tight when he whispers, ”Actively not dying, I suppose.”
After a quick look past his shoulder, Bull pecks his forehead before offering a hand to help him stand. Dorian doesn't let go even when Trevelyan lifts her head and smiles slightly at their joined fingers.
”Ready?” she checks with a raised eyebrow and Dorian nods squeezing Bull's hand.