[AW] Water Wings

[Willfur]

Willfur


The crashing of the water is deafening. Willfur would have thought, from experience with other rivers in other places, that the current would be tame and babbling at this time of year, most of the winter melt-off having already collected and moved downstream at the start of spring. Conflictingly, the Rapax is roaring even now, with summer close on the horizon and the sun lingering longer in the sky each day.

He steps as close to the edge of the water as he dares, spray washing across his legs and chest even from a cautious meter away. Peering down into the surging froth, he can see jagged outcroppings of stone in the rivers bed and pushing up along its banks, forcing every ounce of liquid to slosh and slam its way through as it hurries downstream, never quieting or losing momentum.

"Wow!" One long, mule ear pivots backward, respectful and a little apprehensive of the waters obvious strength. "They should call you Rapax Rapids, not Rapax River. I think even I'd be washed away in that current." He steps back, squinting to follow the waters winding track as it snakes farther south. "But how am I meant to cross you?"

As far as he can tell there's no bridge, no ford, not even a worn trail along the bank that might indicate a safe passage farther up or down the rivers edge. All he can see is stone and mist, thundering swells of water and the very real possibility of death. slow death.

No thank you.

[Ezital]

EZITAL



The sweet, echoing call of a river beckons to Ezital a full mile away. 


He snorted happily, and picked up a brisk trot in the direction of the sound. It’s been ages since he’s seen something bigger than a mud puddle, and his time in the desert has left the hair over his back and neck in salty, crispy whorls. A river promised cool soothing water and a flush of green things to stuff his face with. Perhaps followed by a well earned nap in the sun.

 
Perfect.


He picked up speed as the air grew slightly humid and misty, filling his lungs with moisture. The  forest parted and the river finally came into view. 


”Cannonball!” he screamed as he streaked past a big brown blur on the bank. Nothing would have stopped him, not even a hungry grizzly perched on the shoreline.


The surface of the water slapped the flat of his belly, but he could do little more than gasp before the current churned and pulled him below the surface. He struggled, briefly, for footing, but he found nothing but more water pulling at his limbs.

 
He was abruptly crashed into a rock, jarring his left foreleg as he kicked and fought to the surface. Clambering out of the foam and froth, he perched delicately on the top of the rock and shook the excess water from his fur.


Aware of the eyes on him, he arched his neck and tossed his soaked mane, hiding his slightly swollen foreleg and ignoring the warm trickle just above his knee. 


”Well?” He called to the stranger, ”are you coming?”



@Willfur <3

[Willfur]

Willfur


There's a shout and clatter of hooves, the sound swelling and quickening as it approaches, reverberating in his ears even above the crashing water. Willfur stumbles back, buffeted by a sudden onslaught of noise and color and scent as something, someone rushes past him at top speed.

Is that guy really going to-?
Yep, yep he is.

All the claybank can do is stare in disbelief. He watches, gaping, as the little stallion, the tiny madman, bunches his hindquarters and springs, arching up and away from the safety of the bank, soaring out over the river without even a microseconds thought or hesitation that he can see. The mule's great ears plane out to either side, confused, anxious, disturbed.

Is he witnessing a suicide?

It's an elegant way to go though, with tucked knees and red and black tail splaying out behind him like a banner of insanity. The guy doesn't even look perturbed as he submerges, instantly swallowed whole and dragged a ways downstream by the raging current before resurfacing. Willfur winces, knowing it must hurt to be violently pushed and pulled like that, rag-dolling from boulder to boulder until finally, astonishingly, the little stallion finds traction - or some last, desperate strength - and hauls himself onto an outcropping of stone.

"What in the ever-loving-" He starts to rebuke the stranger, annoyance born of fear, at its base level, souring his normally even tone, but he's interrupted by, 'Are you coming?'

'Are you coming?'

Barking laughter heaves unexpectedly through his chest, forcing him to lower his head and wipe his eyes and nose on his knees. "You're nuts aren't you? No, I won't be coming in! And how are you going to get out?" Then, kinder, the gravity of the situation sinking in, "Do you need help?"

He's fairly certain he can see a few patches scraped clean of hair and welling tiny red droplets on the stallion's coat, but since he seems so determined not to look shaken, the clay-colored mule chooses not to comment.

Best not to incite the mentally ill.

@Ezital

[Ezital]

EZITAL




Ezital couldn’t help but to scoff and smile at the stranger.

”And how would you propose we do that?” he rolled his eyes. ”Oh rapunzel, let down your tail and I shall scale the bank with it in my teeth.”

He dunked a hoof in the water, testing the current. It wasn’t so bad, really. Perhaps just a bit too strong and deep to swim. He pawed at the surface, eyeing the distance between his little rocky perch and the grassy bank where the great red beast was peering at him. He seemed a bit too haughty, looking down at Ezital, like he thought the water was something to fear. Like he thought Ezital was ridiculous, merely for having fun on a hot day.


His tail swung wildly behind him as he crouched, the flag of long hair streaming like a rudder in the water.

He could make it, right?

After one or two false starts, his hindquarters bunched and he flung himself with all his strength at the bank.

A grunt escaped him as he crashed. He was barely chest and stomach on the grass, his weakened foreleg collapsed, shaking uselessly. For a frantic moment, his hind legs scrambled in open air, before making contact with the soft red clay and hauling his ass up and over onto the grass.  As he somersaulted, his soaked tail slapped into the face of the stranger. The sound was not unlike when a dead fish slaps against stone.

Ezital dissolved into giggles from his sprawl on the ground. He twisted in the lush greenery, letting it soothe the aches from the water. He laughed until his sides heaved and his lungs ached and wheezed.

”Oops,” he grinned. ”I’m Ezital, by the way.”


@Willfur

permission for physical contact given in advance

[Willfur]

Willfur


Rapunzel?

The oversize ears tilt away, disengaging from the marooned stallion, their accompanying russet eyes hardening for a moment. Willfur understands sarcasm, he just doesn't like it. It feels mean spirited, it's usually fueled by discomfort of some sort, and it's primarily meant to emphasize ridiculousness, childishness, and absurdity, but he doesn't feel absurd. He feels like he's being perfectly rational, especially in comparison.

He's not the one standing scuffed and bruised on a rock in the middle of a turbulent river!

A few times in his youth he'd been spurred to hot mouthed retaliation by some similar exchange, but every time he'd tried to quip at his opponents their retaliations became sharper, more astute, and almost always deteriorated into open insults and hostility. It wasn't a contest that ever ended well for him, since he always seemed to care more about what was said than anyone else, and it's not one he wants to get dragged into now, even if his sensibilities are ruffled.

"Rapunzel only lets down her hair for a prince. The pout in his voice is unmistakable. Well, maybe he's still a bit childish. He sighs, tries again. "But I suppose if I'd been locked inside a tower for eighteen years I wouldn't be especially picky either... and I'm pretty sure that prince did have to cross a river. He tries to grin and turns to scan the bank for debris: logs, branches, the usual sorts of things that get sucked in and redeposited by swift currents. "Maybe there's something-"

Too late.

Before his metaphorical olive branch can mature into a physical one, the little stallion bunches himself up like a cat and the mule on the bank already knows what to expect. Eyes widening, he scrambles to get out of the way, only narrowly trading full body contact for a light smack across the bridge of the nose. Whap!

Had that really been an accident?

Skeptical, but unroused, he shakes himself, wiping away the unwanted moisture on one knee while the leaping lunatic rolls and wriggles in the grass. "Definitely nuts," He reiterates, but this time his expression is lighter and the words are softened by a rumble of shared laughter.

Had he really known he could make those jumps?

"I'm Willfur. And if that leg is hurting you there's probably some willow growing around here. It's a good painkiller and it likes to grow near water." He'd noticed how the stallion's left foreleg had buckled before anything else, though the exaggerated antics that followed had been a pretty good cover.

Maybe he's not as crazy as he seems.


@Ezital

[Ezital]

EZITAL




”Nuts?” Ezital rolled his eyes and began dabbing at his scraped foreleg with his upper lip. ”Listen, princess, there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun. It’s summer, it’s hot, and I wanted a swim. I’m a grown-ass stallion, and there’s nothing stopping me from doing whatever I want.” He shook his mane defiantly.


Ezital hummed to himself and glanced up at the stranger. There aren’t many reasons to linger at a body of water. This particular section of river would be too much work for just a drink, and the guy didn’t seem all that interested in taking a nice dip or nap in the sunshine.

His eyes lingered on the stout red beast towering over him, tracing over his dinner plate hooves, hairy tree trunk legs, and thick, arched neck. Why was a stallion like him so shy and timid? He was bigger and bulkier than half the things out here anyway. He should be using that to his advantage.

”What are you doing over here? I haven’t seen anyone for miles. Are you lost?”

Sucking in a breath, he tried to cut off that last question just a little too late. He was in no position to be providing directions to anyone. He’d been wandering for a few days, aimless and searching for a change of scenery. There was only so much sand and desert he could take before he needed a breath of damp forest air.

He heaved himself to his feet with a groan, wobbly and unsteady as someone trying to stand up in a hammock.  He staggered his hind legs a few steps before he found a position that took most of his weight off his left leg. Maybe he was a little more shaken from his antics than he’d thought. A good, solid nap would surely help, but he was loath to do it in front of this insufferable buzz-kill. The creep would probably just stand nearby and alternate watching Ezital snoring and the rushing water.

”Listen, Will, can I call you Will? Willy? William? What was it again?” Ezital groaned again and let his legs fold under him. “Nevermind. Willow sounds great.”


Hopefully it would take him a while to find and Ezital could sneak in a few z’s in the sunshine.


@Willfur

[Willfur]

Willfur


Maybe not crazy, but definitely rude.

All the red mule can do is sigh and lay his ears back. The antlered stallion reminds him too much of long ago, mid-pubescent squabbling, his flamboyant behavior in sharp contrast to the accompanying attitude of forced carelessness, one screaming 'Look at me! Look at me!' while the other insists he only wants to be left alone. It grates on the hybrid, tasting of dishonesty and petulance and bringing with it a familiar, bone wearying fatigue that only seems to be relieved in the quiet of isolation and even then, only temporarily.

"I didn't mean-", He wants to defend himself, point out the numerous flaws in the other stallions logic, but he's not given a chance to. There's more posturing, more dismissive comments, even amid questions the other obviously expects to be answered, unbelievably. Every offensive syllable drops like a cat with claws unsheathed onto the mules back, the muscles along his spine tightening with his temper, physically held in check.

"I'm going to the Dawn Court." He snaps, unable to keep annoyance and hurt feelings from his voice. "I've heard they have an impressive library, so I was looking for a safe way to-" Again he's cut short, the brown and auburn velvet of his muzzle twisting tightly closed, hardening now where so often it lays soft and amiable.

Is he being too sensitive?

He knows - he really does - that he shouldn't be so easily riled, that a reaction is exactly what these types of characters are looking for, but he can't quite stop himself from correcting, "It's Willfur."

He finds himself seething; As if thirty seconds is too long to remember a name. As if its owner is of so little consequence that the insult in purposefully? misnaming him isn't even worth acknowledgement. Sulkily, he thinks, Espinoza, that's what he should call the little twat, but even his own thoughts rebuke the idea as childish and surly. Since when did he let the opinions and actions of others sway his own good nature? Is he so easily manipulated?

It takes strength to be gentle.

"I'll be back." He mumbles, tossing the words over one shoulder as he turns, jogging away. He's let the road wear him out, that's all. The days and weeks of travel have frayed his nerves. A little willow bark for his own aches and strains might not be poorly received, either. It takes a lot of effort to move 1200 pounds of flesh and bone across such large distances. Novus is a sprawling realm of every topographical type and feature imaginable, it's no wonder he's gotten irritable.

~~~

Just a few miles upstream he finds the long, hanging ribbons of green he's looking for and indulges himself for a moment under their sheltering curtain, breathing in the fresh, moist scent and letting any residual heat of emotion drain from him.

He was being too sensitive, he decides.

And for what? He wonders, carefully peeling a section of bark away from the Willow. He takes only small segments and is careful to strip only the upper portions of the trunk, stretching his neck up to where he reasons fewer insects, bacteria, and other opportunistic animals will be able to reach and further damage the trees inner layers, tucking his gatherings into the small leather bag at his left shoulder.

With a mouthful neatly stacked in his bag and another tucked into one cheek for himself, he breathes, "That should be enough. Thank you."

~~~

He does feel significantly better by the time he returns to the little stallion, though whether it's the salicin in the bark, or the benefits of personal reflection, he can't fairly say. Perhaps they just work best in tandem. Either way, he's able to smile now, and gingerly sets the measure of bark between Ezital's knees, all his ill humor gone.

"Here. Chew on this. It'll help."

@Ezital <3