Qeya River to die for

blackfell moves through the water like a battering ram. freezing cold seizes his lungs, but he grits his teeth and fights the shock. his paws churn against the current as he surges forward. ghelan’s form bobs ahead—closer now.

too close to losing him. a quick prayer is said to his god not to take the boy.

he growls against the black currents, frustration bubbling in his chest as he pushes harder. the river is a beast in itself, dragging, pulling—

reach for me, boy! his voice is half drowned by the waters of the river.

he sees a foreleg rise from the waters, nails reaching for whatever they might; be it ice, water, rock, root, bank. but it is blackfell he finds, who reaches for the arm with his bared teeth, rescuing him in a crushing grip. it is the only way to extinguish the distance that pulls between them—a wound can be tended, but the water shows no mercy for any of them yet. his grip is tight but not crushing. the both of them heavy with water, and once blackfell pulls him in, he swaps teeth from leg to scruff, hauling him upwards so that blackfell might instead be the one drowning beneath the currents.

just enough to keep his head above the rushing current.

let him breath.

he twists himself and ghelan toward ridgeback, and sun eater who claws through the water behind, crimson eyes flashing with hindered emotion. before his head is taken by the turbulent currents.