Whitewater Gorge do not speak against the sun

@Reigi

There was nothing of interest upon the coast except and endless frost, and Aquila was not the type of beast to be enamored by the layout of the world around himself. There was nothing for him here - the meals were scarce or required too much effort, the water was thick with salt and thus undrinkable, and there was nobody to keep him warm or entertained.

He detoured hastily, seeking out a forest that was further inland to try his luck. As he crept about the shadows of the wood Aquila found himself lacking his usual patience; winter was not a time of plenty even for this mild climate, but there should have been something small and stupid for him to devour. A squirrel, or a mouse waiting out its hibernation - alas, as he came through the other side of the rolling hills of trees, he was clearly lacking any prize.

From there he headed east until he met a river, and there he could at least fill his gut with water and stave off his hunger. The path beyond was unclear from that point further. The gorge was like a massive tear in the earth that frothed with a mighty (some might consider obscene) violence that he found to be appealing as well as frustrating - so he began to scour the descending stonework of the riverbank for a safe path with which to cross.

she was on a trail, nose low to the ground, breathing in the mouth-watering, gut-churning scent of a rabbit.  although she'd fed recently, it had been vile and distasteful, and had ultimately come back up anyway — rotting meat apparently did not sit kindly on her stomach.

she had pondered shoving it back down again, like some dogs do, but there were some things even she was above.

so she'd put her nose to the grindstone and it had led her here — wherever that was.  her ears flicked back as she pulled herself back to reality, churning water catching her attention briefly before she sets back on the trail.

at last her efforts come to fruition, quickly, she snuffs the rabbit out with one clamp of her jaws and a shake of her head, and sets about devouring it just as quickly.

she picks up what's left of the creature and carries it with her as she heads towards the source of all the noise, but the silhouette of a man causes her to pause, hackles raising before he has acknowledged her.

perhaps she can just slip out while he is working to forge the cascading water.

The wolf is oblivious to his audience. It is not unusual for Aquila to be so focused but it is unfortunate; he could have ignored the raucous waters below himself and found some safer, quieter place from which to fjord the river. Had he done so - been tactical, been smart rather than the blunt instrument his people were oft known as - then maybe he'd have spotted her.

As it was, the leonine figure had squared his shoulders to the descending ridge of uneven stone. He was not aware that someone was traipsing behind him with the prize he was so eager to obtain (well, two for two really). With a reach of his long limbs he could at the very least touch one of the exposed stones that would serve as a bridge - yet no sooner had he touched upon it was the water frothing for him.

He grimaced as his next step slipped from its mooring and he plunged shoulder-deep in to the water, just as the swift current ploughed against his chest. Water forced its way down his gullet in a manner that was wholly unpleasant, and he spasmed in trying to free himself. It was not a graceful display in the least but it did the trick: Aquila managed to reverse himself enough so that he adhered, sloppily, to the bank.

you went inactive so i'm gonna tack on an ending and archive this.  if you ever come back, let me know if you'd like to continue the thread!

just as she is about to turn tail and head for the hills, the man falls into the water and the noise of his struggle draws her forth, intense heterochromatic eyes watching him struggle.  

she does not interfere, lest she be pulled into the raging rivers herself, but she dances on the edge of banks, back and forth as he struggles to pull himself from the icy grip of the gorge.

finally, he makes his way to the bank, cold and dripping.  reigi skitters back, remembering her trophy yet still curious about this strange boy who'd tried to fare the waters.  her ears push forward assertively as her tail wags once-twice, brushing each of her hocks.

and then, suddenly disinterested in the dripping creature, the fickle girl turns on her heel and runs.