The gun missed him, and Deteca watched as the young assassin did things to the gun, then pointed it at her. She dropped to the ground as he fired - the gun worked for him; unfair, she really had to take a lesson on using these things - and shot every bullet wildly in her direction. She landed on her chest, wincing slightly, and felt a whisk of air on her arm, hearing the crack and boom of the weapon going off.
It was a tense few seconds, then Wes ran out of ammunition. She didn’t have any on her, that was all that had been in the arena, and so when she exhaled, it was relieved. She pushed herself to her knees.
And then her adrenaline ran out, and she felt a powerful heat climbing her bicep. Looking at it in dismay, Deteca realized that it hadn’t been a breeze from bullets passing that she’d sensed heartbeats earlier - it was one of them scraping her arm. It wasn’t a huge gash, but it pulsed burning waves of die die die up her limb, and she stared at it stupidly for a moment before pressing it hard to her side, trying to staunch the bleeding as much as she could.
Make it to the end of the duel and we’ll both get healed, Deteca thought. She scrabbled for the cloak Wes had dropped earlier and began tying it around her arm while backing away: it was hard to knot, but she did it. She had more experience with this than she did fighting.
She faced him warily, not sure how next to proceed, then noticed a silvery sheen on the ground next to her. She darted down and grabbed it quickly, sending it barely a glance, just enough to see that it was the bendalloymind he’d thrown at her, and waited for him to make the next move.