Qeya River and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt

She swings her head back the way she came, wondering if she could get enough momentum to throw herself back the way to the bank. There’s a crack and she knows that idea sinks, leaving her with the only option: more forward. She could stand and jump to the next solid surface and she slowly makes the attempt, putting claws into the grooves she’s caused, but there’s another crack that causes her to freeze. Thuringwethil lowers her weight to the ground to reassess what she needs to do.

The voice catches her attention quickly and it takes a few seconds to realize the words are her own tongue. Thuringwethil doesn’t have time to answer when she’s gripped by the scruff and pulled the moment the ice gives way and becomes swallowed up by the river. Her feet try to reach for something solid but it isn’t until she’s pulled across the rock like a wet towel. When she’s free, she takes a few gasping breaths and clears her insides of the water swallowed. Thurningwethil shakes her fur, turning to look upon the wolf that saved her. Her head immediately rises and even though she stands a little unsteadily from the ordeal, her posture does not compromise in front of one of her own. The girl looks familiar—her markings make it hard to forget—and she remembers a tie left undone.

“Mochof,” she says in a raspy, wet voice. Thank you. “I chose wisely, it seems,” she says in the comfort of her own tongue. A deal with their neighbors; Thuringwethil traded some of her soldiers in exchange for the chance to train and mold some of her own. Snacha’s preparation had been completed in vain, for there is no Seageda to serve. “You should not have come here.”