Squishing, stumbling! A haphazard dance that has me wobbling/paddling gracelessly into the shallows. Despite my determination, the uneven terrain defies me; clenched jaws strangle a whiskered cry of shock as the mossy rocks antagonize the situation by sliding out from underfoot. My audible sensors are drowned in the upheaval; consumed by the racket of ivories grinding and chattering their way into the splashy chorus. That suppressed cackle brings these frantic, questioning irises upward…tendrils of hair flop over the curve of my nose. Noah? A hasty glance crosses out that assumption; this wasn't a man of milk and honey...but rather gold and granite. Armored and weaponized.

Oh no…

My momentarily lapse of concentration is all the excuse this mossy, razor-sharp spread needs to punish me for the foul placement of ill-experienced feet. Without warning, I lurch forward! Forefeet skidding, pivoting on the threshold of balance! These arms pummel that rippled, foamy surface -- uselessly correcting. A spinning mix of panic, fear and shame dribble into the framework of my expression. Cued by the notion of public ridicule, my subconscious ducks out of view…leaving my crumbled self-esteem to weather the damage alone.

Water sprays from these nostrils as another fit of coughing invades me. After thoroughly becoming a slobbery, wet mess (in my opinion)...I manage to regain my footing and straighten just in time for my unexpected companion to splash in alongside. These heavy, useless arms quiver and curl inward…habitually surrendering their space to the taller, coordinated male. Optics glimpse his open shoulder, the logical part of my brain pings that it was exposed for support. But as he nears, my entirety can’t help but tighten; the shivering becomes ever more violent. I shy aside, highlighting a fault that in every aspect, I'm unpracticed (and uneducated) in the socially acceptable art of casual touch. Though…had he just shoved his shoulder into me as a brace without hesitation...I wouldn't have been in a position to refuse it...

Gradually, the chilly surf dips below my throat, a few steps more and it rushes to abandon my frigid neckline. The weight of gravity has resumed by the time my chest and shoulders are revealed. That mild torrent runs arctic fingers over those damp, moist contours. I quiver, shivering...it felt as if needles are dribbling down my liver splashed coat. Relief and anxiety are subdued by the new reality of my frigid predicament. The stranger speaks and these vibrating ears pivot, sorting and absorbing the melody of his foreign words. There is familiarity in his voice (even if those words are lost to me)…but my lungs seemed unwilling to suck a deep enough breath amid the chattering to form a reply. I glance up, realization comes quickly. This is one of the men from weeks prior -- one who'd discovered our typhoon brewing trio ascending the face of a mountain.

Drenched...and dirty...the irony of our second impression burns the tips of my ears.

OC: Sorry for the wait!  
@Rikyn