Reynion cursed as he saw the last three elves to cross fall into the river, knocked off of the swaying rope by a tree. Ceros and Ihwesta managed to grab the rope and with the help of the others crawl back onto the shore. Gilbereth was not so fortunate. His arms flailing, he plunged beneath the surface of the foaming water. Reyn cursed again, and watched for him to come up. He floundered to the surface, but by then he was almost thirty feet downstream. He tried to swim back up, but with only one hand, it was impossible. So Reyn did the only thing he could think of to do. He dove in after the younger elf.
The first thing his mind registered was that the water was icy cold; the second that this had probably not been the smartest thing to do and it was very likely that he wouldn't survive. He thrashed his way to the surface, and looked for Gilbereth's blond head. He didn't see it, and barely had time to gasp a breath before being plunged under the surface again. When next he came up, he could neither see Gilbereth, nor could he see the other elves. He struck out towards the shore, obliquely so that he wouldn't have to fight the current so much. His leg protested at this hard use, so soon after it was wounded, but he had no choice except to ignore the pain. He still looked downstream, hoping to see Gilbereth bobbing along, but it didn't happen.
The current sped up, and Reyn gave up trying to locate the other elf and instead focused on getting to shore so that his aching muscles could rest. He kicked harder and pulled faster. He didn't know how much more of this frigid water he could take. Besides, there was always the possibility that another tree would come crashing down the channel. The thought was not reassuring, and it was with a sigh of relief that Reyn found hard ground under his hands.
He crawled out and looked around, shivering. If the water was cold, the temperature under the trees while soaking wet was positively glacial. He didn't see anyone else. He was alone for the second time this journey. With one backward glance in the direction Gilbereth had disappeared, he started to slowly make his way back to the others. He wouldn't do anyone any good if he froze to .
He rubbed his hands together and along his legs, trying to evoke at least a semblance of warmth. The act made him think of Gilbereth, who was likely as cold as he. The younger elf still annoyed him, but this was not a predicament he would wish on his worst enemy--well, he wouldn't mind if a few orcs were freezing after a dunking in a frigid river, but other than that...it wouldn't have surprised him in the least if icicles began to grow on the tips of his hair, which now hung in limp strings around his face.
[ August 31, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]
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