There's something about how the Bull speaks that sends ice down Dorian's spine.

Maybe it's their predicament. Maybe it's the stench of darkspawn – Qunari have more sensitive noses than humans, evidently, and surely the Bull smells the darkspawn stench far more acutely than Dorian can. Maybe it's the necessity of keeping his voice low, when the Bull typically seems to prefer something raucous.

I'll live isn't much of an answer. It's an acknowledgment, at best, which means the Bull is almost certainly hurt, and isn't bothering to hide it – not well, at least. Dorian stumbles toward the wall they seem to be sharing, tripping a little over fallen stone but keeping his footing. Concussion, he thinks. Poor balance. He'll be fine.

Examining the wall, Dorian finds himself cursing dwarven architecture. It's solid, sturdy, with only a few cracks at the top from when the ceiling had caved in what must have been ages ago. Maybe he can find a weak point, though. Maybe he can figure out a way to take apart enough of the wall to slip through.

"What about you?" There's urgency in his voice, though he struggles to stay quiet. "Are you able to get out?"