She nodded frantically. Her hair clung to her face in wild wisps, and her antlers shook. “In the water.”
I felt a little sick. I stepped forward to get a better look.
The little dragon was struggling to swim, clinging to a log and quickly losing the fight against the current. Another minute or so and the water would sweep him away.
I swallowed down bile. “And you were going to jump in and save him?”
“Of course!” she shouted, struggling even harder.
I allowed my shadows to soften and bend so they wouldn’t bruise her tender flesh, but she couldn’t advance another inch. I simply wouldn’t allow it. “And what about the current?”
“Fuck the current! Maybe it’s shallow enough for me to stand.”
I stared into the black, endless depths. “It’s deep.”
“I’ll grab the log, then, just let me?—”
I dove in headfirst before she could finish the sentence.
The water stung my skin like needles. Though I thrashed my limbs and coaxed my shadows to help me, I sank almost instantly.
Blackness surrounded me, filled my mouth, drowned out the sounds of Ginger’s screams. Not the comfortable blacknessI was used to—this blackness was hungry. Wild. It wanted to throw me around and pull me apart.
With great effort, I was able to force my head above water. My lungs convulsed, spitting out brackish water and greedily sucking down air. Fresh, delicious air.
I struggled to keep myself from going under again.
My cloak was dead weight pulling down my already sinking body, but it clung to me like a second skin, and I couldn’t spare the energy to take it off.
The current carried my shadows away before they could really help me, and I couldn’t concentrate enough to whip them into shape, split as they were keeping Ginger rooted to dry land. I could still feel her struggling, even more violently now.
I thrashed, pushing my muscles to their limit.
I stretched my arms out in front of me.
Finally,finally, my searching fingers met something solid.
The log was slimy and sludgy, and my fingernails screamed in protest when I dug them in for purchase.
I pulled myself closer.
The dragon slipped, wings sliding. He let out a strange, close-mouthed wail.
Ginger sobbed where she stood, pleading to whichever gods or fates would listen.
I gritted my teeth.
“Hang on, little beast,” I begged. “I’m coming.”
I used the log to pull myself closer. The beast was ten feet away. Five.
Almost in reach.
I stuck a hand out, fingertips darkened and bleeding, shadows whispering in the direction of the small dragon.
Fear shone in his eyes. Brambleby lifted a wing, slowly, in my direction.
And then he slipped from the log.
