The Rapax runs year-round.
God's water, some call it, because it runs down the mountains from the peak they claim is closest to the gods. He likes the ring of those two words-- god's water-- but they're redundant, as is their origin. Everything is god's.
And god is everywhere.
The Rapax runs year-round, but it is always changing. It is very much a living thing, in that way. It is sometimes sweet, sometimes mean. Most of the time, though, it is just minding its own business.
Mateo obviously didn't mean to scare the grey man. He had been trying to make his way home from the library without being seen, since he did not have the recommended number of companions. He's not fond of breaking the rules, or at least getting caught breaking them. All caught up in his thoughts, he hardly realized how close he was to the slow-moving stranger until...
"Oh, uh... shoot."
The man went scrabbling down the river bank, barely finding a foothold in the smooth stones.
It's moments like these that reveal the true nature of a person. In this particular moment, Mateo learns that he is not a hero. For a second or three he just watches. It seems like the man's got this situation under control... he's got two hooves latched on to the river rock, and his head is above water.
Songs and stories fill Mateo's head, tales of heroism and greatness and the start of epic friendships. None of them ever mentioned getting your feathers wet. He hates getting his feathers wet.
"Okay," he breathes in deeply, bracing himself for the coldness of the water. "Alright, then!" The pep talk is purely for himself, not the poor stranger who likely needs it more. Mateo steps carefully down toward the river, past the struggling stallion, and when he is between the stranger and the bulk of the dark water, he leans against the grey with his left shoulder and he pushes. "Up you go, buddy." His right wing flutters out for balance and the tips of it are submerged in the cold river. Heroism sucks.
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@Grey
