Whitewater Gorge do not speak against the sun

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.