[ If he'd had time for it, he would have glanced back to shoot Misa a look as his right hand — arm — started freezing in place. He doesn't, though, so all he has is to continue with the followthrough of his non-petrified arm; it's around then that Misa's gaze effectively puts a halt to the blood flow, and he gets what she's doing.
He didn't intend on this fight lasting so long as for the blood loss to be that much of a hinderance, and now he's got a dead arm, but whatever. As long as she thinks she's helping.
Even though a tendril of annoyance starts unfurling itself inside him.
But it has its uses — or rather, should — as Amos pivots his body when he sees Ernesto taking another swing at him, aiming to block it with his now-petrified arm; if he's going to be partially immobile, might as well try to use it as a shield.
Except it misses on his end; succeeds on Ernesto's, dealing him a deeper wound higher up on his arm, cutting just below the bony part of his shoulder — where his arm is still flesh and blood once again coming to the surface flowing down stone tracks and something inside him snaps.
This time, Amos' yell of pain is more one of anger as he aims to grab at Ernesto's left wrist with his right hand, which is still down a few fingers and now made of stone — helpful in meaning he's less likely to lose more; less helpful in that he can't get a proper grip, can't get a feel for it, can only apply a base level of pressure. His eyes dart from his new cut to the sword to Ernesto's eyes to his arm as he makes a split-second decision, grabs at Ernesto's upper arm with his left hand, and wrenches the whole thing back as far as he possibly can.
Something snapped in him; let something snap inside of Ernesto, too. ]
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He didn't intend on this fight lasting so long as for the blood loss to be that much of a hinderance, and now he's got a dead arm, but whatever. As long as she thinks she's helping.
Even though a tendril of annoyance starts unfurling itself inside him.
But it has its uses — or rather, should — as Amos pivots his body when he sees Ernesto taking another swing at him, aiming to block it with his now-petrified arm; if he's going to be partially immobile, might as well try to use it as a shield.
Except it misses on his end; succeeds on Ernesto's, dealing him a deeper wound higher up on his arm, cutting just below the bony part of his shoulder — where his arm is still flesh and blood once again coming to the surface flowing down stone tracks and something inside him snaps.
This time, Amos' yell of pain is more one of anger as he aims to grab at Ernesto's left wrist with his right hand, which is still down a few fingers and now made of stone — helpful in meaning he's less likely to lose more; less helpful in that he can't get a proper grip, can't get a feel for it, can only apply a base level of pressure. His eyes dart from his new cut to the sword to Ernesto's eyes to his arm as he makes a split-second decision, grabs at Ernesto's upper arm with his left hand, and wrenches the whole thing back as far as he possibly can.
Something snapped in him; let something snap inside of Ernesto, too. ]