[Woah, no, Adora does not get to break contact again that quickly. Does she not realize how badly she freaked Catra out, with her disappearance? Catra thought she'd gone off willingly, and then when Shadow Weaver told her she was off in a rebel village -- the very worst had come into Catra's mind. Adora had only been gone for a day and most of a night, but that was definitely enough time for anyone to do significant harm to her. To find her in one piece, with just her head a bit confused... that's not something that Catra's taking for granted.
So when Adora moves to step back and raises her sword, Catra's hand flies out after her; gripping tightly around her wrist as she calls out a nonsense phrase--
--and then hisses as light erupts, throwing up her other arm across her face and hunching down over Adora's arm to shield herself. She didn't hear the clatter or explosion of a grenade, but she pulls at Adora's arm anyway, trying to drag her away from it. Only, her hand slips; and Catra realizes, belatedly, that her fingertips are no longer touching around the circumference of Adora's wrist. And it feels rather a bit too smooth and cool to be the white fabric of Adora's shirt.
Ears flattened back against her head, tail protectively close to her leg, Catra squints open her eyes. Only instead of the red of Adora's jacket and white of her shirt, there's the gold of a bracer beneath her hand and bare skin stretched over taut muscles that are -- definitely -- not Adora's.
And neither is the face that she looks up at, cold blue eyes gleaming among floating gold hair, and Catra promptly drops the wrist she's holding and starts backwards with a yelp.]
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So when Adora moves to step back and raises her sword, Catra's hand flies out after her; gripping tightly around her wrist as she calls out a nonsense phrase--
--and then hisses as light erupts, throwing up her other arm across her face and hunching down over Adora's arm to shield herself. She didn't hear the clatter or explosion of a grenade, but she pulls at Adora's arm anyway, trying to drag her away from it. Only, her hand slips; and Catra realizes, belatedly, that her fingertips are no longer touching around the circumference of Adora's wrist. And it feels rather a bit too smooth and cool to be the white fabric of Adora's shirt.
Ears flattened back against her head, tail protectively close to her leg, Catra squints open her eyes. Only instead of the red of Adora's jacket and white of her shirt, there's the gold of a bracer beneath her hand and bare skin stretched over taut muscles that are -- definitely -- not Adora's.
And neither is the face that she looks up at, cold blue eyes gleaming among floating gold hair, and Catra promptly drops the wrist she's holding and starts backwards with a yelp.]