-NYXA-
Little fish, big fish,
swimming in the water...
If she had died, Nyxa would have readily blamed it on her lack of supervision. For goodness sake! Who would let a child just roam freely where she pleased? Clearly, as she dips below the surface and opens her eyes, she can see that the winged mare wasn’t coming to her aid. She only sees the swirl of convoluted river water, feels herself thrown violently against the rough shoulder of a lonely stone, and is left to pump useless legs against the current which is slowly suffocating her.
For a moment, she touches ground. Her pale head breaks the surface, nostrils flaring to expel a spray of mist while her mouth pops open to gasp for air. But the seconds pass quickly and she’s drug under again, mouth filling with the same dark liquid she’d tried so uselessly to purge. Up and down the filly bobs, the faint cry of her rescuer drowned out by the angry roar of the River. Nyxa can only rise and gasp; be baptized again. Rise and gasp. Baptism.
The black spots begin to form at the edge of her vision.
“Mother-” She thinks.
Her wings flutter at her sides, animated by the thrill of adrenaline as instinct overtakes reaction. Beneath the choppy surface her strange feathers spread wide; she jerks them forward, like flying underwater.
The action is as smooth as it would have been in the air. Composed of the element that struggles now to end her life, they meet with no resistance and instead slice against the current to give her aid. It’s just enough: her body rights itself, Nyxa scrabbles against the belly of the beast and erupts from the watery grave in time time to hear, “Get over here! Grab onto me,” and so she does.
She’s not sure how, the right wing is still splayed open wide - maybe it acts as a guiding rudder. She can’t be sure. Nyxa only drifts until the bars of Sirin’s legs force her into a stop. Trembling, sputtering and half-dead, the soaked filly struggles to scramble onto the nearby bank and when she does, exhaustion collapses her into a puddle of ragged tears and sobs of thanks. “You… saved…. meeeeeeeee!” She cries, the tiny pearl of her chest rising and falling with each word.
“I … I’m sorry.” She chokes, “Please, please don’t tell my mother. She would kill me.”
@[Sirin]