[To her credit, she doesn't just resign herself to her fate when her hold on her Amethyst powers shatters; though the sudden weakness in her limbs startles her, and the rush of wind in her face goes from exciting to threatening in a span of seconds, she's still got a span of time left to do something with her life before she loses it — or so she considers in that split-second of time — and so she might as well make best use of it.
Ice, she decides, is her best bet. Wind would be better, but she's no conjurer and never has been, so what she knows will have to do. If she can make some sort of slope, something to ease her fall and lengthen her descent longways rather than just smacking into the ground head on, then maybe...maybe...
And it's because she's so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she misses the rescue altogether until she's already fallen into someone's hold — until there are arms wrapped around her and a broad expanse of chest for her to press against, and she can't very well reach for her staff and cast now, but it doesn't quite seem as though she's going to need to, not anymore.
It's Ezar. Ezar, the surly Keeper, the one who wanted so desperately to get away from her and insist he wanted nothing more than to be rid of her — it's Ezar who's caught her, who tells her so gently, hold on.
She's not stupid enough to refuse. She clings instead, recognizing salvation where she can get it, and shoves her face against his chest like she's trying to make herself as small and unobtrusive as possible.]
no subject
Ice, she decides, is her best bet. Wind would be better, but she's no conjurer and never has been, so what she knows will have to do. If she can make some sort of slope, something to ease her fall and lengthen her descent longways rather than just smacking into the ground head on, then maybe...maybe...
And it's because she's so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she misses the rescue altogether until she's already fallen into someone's hold — until there are arms wrapped around her and a broad expanse of chest for her to press against, and she can't very well reach for her staff and cast now, but it doesn't quite seem as though she's going to need to, not anymore.
It's Ezar. Ezar, the surly Keeper, the one who wanted so desperately to get away from her and insist he wanted nothing more than to be rid of her — it's Ezar who's caught her, who tells her so gently, hold on.
She's not stupid enough to refuse. She clings instead, recognizing salvation where she can get it, and shoves her face against his chest like she's trying to make herself as small and unobtrusive as possible.]