.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
His words rebound from the barrier, same as the icy water while it slithers down my trembling coat. “J-je ne comprend-ds pas,” frustration welps from stuttered lips and ascends my reply into the frigid space between us. While those vocals are useless...his gesture is received. Though half frozen and unsettled by our situation, my stare remains alert, watchful – perceiving his jolt of chin and forward momentum as leadership. He…is trying to coax me onward; off to the side, rather than straight ahead. Ingrain obedience has me turning to follow. He (wisely) chooses to maintain the balance of distance apart from my stumbling, haphazard gait. Toes edge forward, testing the durability beneath us. Prattling teeth click in the back of my mouth. Slowly, the frothy lips of water adjure, relinquishing their hold upon jittery flesh.
The gravel dissolves, sharp rocks and unpredictable dips are traded for a softer, agreeable substrate. Aquatic weeds brush sneakily against the sides/backs of these narrow legs. Arms shiver aloof; allowing contained moisture to drizzle clear. Relief spurts hotly into my blood as the muddy bank-side envelopes these lead-like toes. Sucking, deluging. When at last I’m pulled free of water’s edge (with not even a tendril of thatch lingering) these dithering legs sidestep from the male (in an effort to spare him.) Weak, numbing arms withdraw from my girth. I brace against solid ground and shake…flinging minuscule darts at random.
Purging and drying would take time…luckily…the sun is unhindered. Warm fingers brush themselves over these moist contours; taking a fraction of the sting from the northern air. Optics swivel, aiming for him...the stag who’d plunged into icy water. An explanation forms in the pit of my chest, “f-fly,” shuddering remorse breaks my voice, “f-fall-l.” The compulsion to share my misfortune does nothing to spare me the shame of failing…”W-who, y-you?” I whisper, pinions remain arched, dripping all the while.
OC: [Hover over text for a translation!]
@Rikyn
The gravel dissolves, sharp rocks and unpredictable dips are traded for a softer, agreeable substrate. Aquatic weeds brush sneakily against the sides/backs of these narrow legs. Arms shiver aloof; allowing contained moisture to drizzle clear. Relief spurts hotly into my blood as the muddy bank-side envelopes these lead-like toes. Sucking, deluging. When at last I’m pulled free of water’s edge (with not even a tendril of thatch lingering) these dithering legs sidestep from the male (in an effort to spare him.) Weak, numbing arms withdraw from my girth. I brace against solid ground and shake…flinging minuscule darts at random.
Purging and drying would take time…luckily…the sun is unhindered. Warm fingers brush themselves over these moist contours; taking a fraction of the sting from the northern air. Optics swivel, aiming for him...the stag who’d plunged into icy water. An explanation forms in the pit of my chest, “f-fly,” shuddering remorse breaks my voice, “f-fall-l.” The compulsion to share my misfortune does nothing to spare me the shame of failing…”W-who, y-you?” I whisper, pinions remain arched, dripping all the while.
OC: [Hover over text for a translation!]
@Rikyn
