never take advice from someone who just admitted to being devious and just confessed to treason
He got through to her, whether it was by the sound of his voice above the water, or the cacophony of his approach did not matter. She rose towards him as the Thief dug his hooves into the soft sand, drawing to an abrupt halt with the water at his throat. Much to his relief, Sikeax pushed above the surface moments later, horn parting the water like a luminous sword held aloft. Relief flooded Roland's chest as he met her startled gaze, letting out a rush of breath as the beat of his heart slowed to an even pace. She moved towards him slowly, almost ashamed, tentative in her advance. The Thief watched the water run across the contours of her face in thick rivulets, caught by the moonlight, painted, infused with quicksilver. How easily she could have fallen victim to the water, to its merciless grasp, lost to cold and lightless depths. He kept quiet, swallowing every incredulous demand, every question as to just what she thought she was doing, toeing the line of danger.
The ground was not so easy to reach at their depth, and so the Thief made an awkward retreat until he could find dependable footing. The water lapped at his chest, cool and clear and nothing like the ocean. Instead the pond, like a living thing around them, swelled, moved, and sank with every movement as the young mare followed after him, the deathly silence that had once gripped the clearing fading away beneath the intonation of their voices, echoing across the surface of the pond and the crooked spines of trees as they bent, leaned, and brushed their leaf-laden fingers through the water.
"I'm glad you're alright," the Thief breathed out, an almost stern note to the deep quiet of his voice. He withdrew a step more, pushing through the water as if to make towards the bank again, to be removed from the pond and wring himself out, but her question stopped him short. He paused, head tilting a fraction to the side as he studied her, eyes narrowed just the slightest amount in thought, a combination of bemusement and deliberation. What on earth could she be talking about? Was this a distorted fable, fool's folklore, some trick she had fallen prey to and decided to test out for herself? Silence closed its hand around the grove once more, only the drip of water from the mare's hide breaking the stillness, and the rare and distant splash of a fish as it leapt for fireflies.
The truth was, Roland wasn't sure if he had ever submerged himself completely underwater. Perhaps as a child, many years ago, when he would play along the river's edge. He might have waded into the current, dipped beneath the surface and fought its weight, felt the churning, thundering force as it battered against the rocks; but now it was only the most distant of memories, more of a fragment, a fraction, of a recollection. Though, he did have it on good authority that their kind was not capable of breathing underwater. And yet, for some reason- perhaps to humour her, or sate his own sudden and foolish curiousity, he looked towards the water pushing at his chest and dipped his head. It was an uncomfortable sensation, lowering his muzzle into the cool water, closing his eyes as it rolled against his cheekbones. No, there was nothing natural about the sensation, the danger of having the breath stolen from your lungs, a helpless, terrible feeling that dug cold fingers into his skin, beat against his rib cage. A stream of bubbles followed his ascent as he pulled his muzzle from the water, shaking his head to rid of the droplets. "I cannot breathe underwater," he stated definitively, a curl to his lips, almost suspicious, but not judgemental. His voice was cautious when he followed, on the brink of curiousity- and perhaps wonder- at her ventures. "Can you?"
@[Sikeax]
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