I was, quite simply, drowning.

All drama and hyperbole aside; I was slowly being asphyxiated by the River of Zonn. The river had swept me away, slamming the air out of my lungs with a wall of water and squeezing my heart until I thought it would burst.

With no idea how to swim, no sense of direction as the water swirled around me, and no way to move in the fast-moving currents, my frantic search for open air was futile. I was screaming. No one could hear it.

A sharp pain bloomed in my hand as something enclosed upon it.

I was tugged sideways. My arm felt stretched to its limit, my throat burned and my head was dizzy. Then I was up, cool air was around me, and my gasp was quickly followed by a choking cough. Water lapped at my mouth. I went under.

Something pulled me up again, and I sucked in as much air as I could before I was pushed beneath the surface for a third time.

When I was tugged upwards the next time, I had enough wits about me to realise who clasped my hand. Shirka, as gently as she could, was holding my hand in her mouth and attempting to pull me to safety.

I grabbed onto her, clutching her thick skin and praying she had the strength to support us both. My kicking seemed to help, but it felt awkward, and I still felt like my airway was being invaded by liquid. I could feel almost nothing besides Shirka's teeth, the river's strength, and the heaviness of the boots attached to my feet. My attempts at kicking them off had been in vain; they were too long, too tightly belted.

There was a loud roar that penetrated the rush of the river and my waterlogged ears.

I may have very litte experience with rivers, but I was very sure there was only supposed to be one current running one way. Now, however, I was tossed back and fro. Invisible hands tugged at my clothes and limbs, pulling me in opposite directions.

The water surged.

It was a sudden flood, spilling over the riverbank. I struggled to stay above it, eyes closed in order to protect my sight. Shirka was directing us, clamping on painfully in order to hang onto me. Then we were on grass.

Shirka let go of me.

I rolled onto my hands and knees, coughing up the water clinging to my throat. It kept coming, and my ribs and my stomach ached when I pushed myself upright.

Pushing the sodden, tangled mess of hair out of my face, I looked up and into large, glowing eyes of bronze. The pupils were nonexistent, the nose was covered in green-tinged scales, and two nostrils exhaled a mist of warm water.

My body was frozen with fright.

Shirka, however, growled. She was crouched, her tail flick the only movement

The serpent swung its gigantic head towards the tiger, allowing me to see its serpentine body. It was large, and I wondered how it was able to be contained in the river. Fangs protruded from its mouth, both upwards and downwards, and the sudden image of my arm clamped between them finally sent me stumbling backwards.

Its head snapped towards me. Its hiss sent spittle flying, some of it globbed onto my face and hands.

It was poised to strike; if it had been an illustration of a rattlesnake in Sawon's Guide to Serpents, then its rattler would be warning me with a furious hollow clattering.

Shirks pounced.

Several seconds had yielded a small movement of the serpent's tongue, which had darted in and out as if to taste my fear. It had taunted Shirka out of her watchful state, and the tigress had leapt to defend me.

My shriek made no difference.

Shirka, looking as small as a Golden Glow compared to the monster, latched onto the serpent's nose. Her claws must've clung to scales, her teeth to the vulnerable underside of its eye, but tight she held.

The serpentine monster thrashed, and hissed, and flailed. It could not dislodge Shirka. It had retreated to the middle of the river, the disturbance of the river flooding over them and ebbing away as the current pulled it down.

I'd managed to back up, further into the trees, and was looking for something to help me defend my friend. Soaked to the bone, I shrugged off my pack and looked for the weapon I knew was somewhere on my person.

Then, Lennon T. James appeared.

Note: Lennon T. James doesn't need a weapon in order to look dangerous.

With his pack and his jacket nowhere in sight, he was running through the trees as if they weren't there, the earth beneath us smooth and flat, and he was a sprinter for Chileez to compete in the athletic games.

There was no hesitation as he reached the bank of the river, boots sinking into the wet mud of river silt and washed away stone, and leapt into nothing.

He was suspended in the air for a few seconds, but they felt like an eternity.

Then he slammed into the neck of the river serpent.

He slipped a little, clutching at scales and spikes to hold on. The thrashing of the gigantic reptilian grew more frantic, now rippling over its whole body, and Shirka was dislodged.

Her cry rent the air, cutting off sharply as she struck the boughs of an ancient tree. She fell to the ground, unresponsive, and lay there silently.

I was too far from her to move.

Lennon T. James was yelling something, words I had only seen on paper, words from a language long dead. It was garbled and quick, snappy and commanding, and the explorer seemed to still the serpent with a touch.

Holding still, head tilted and long neck bent, its eyes were only on Lennon T. James.

The river settled.

Assured that the beast was distracted, I slipped in my hurry to get to Shirka. I heard movement, a splash from the river, a hiss, but my eyes were only for the prone figure of the fearsome predator I adored so much.

When I got to her side, falling to my knees, the crimson of blood drew my attention first. It might've been less noticeable with the mud and the thick fur if there had been any less; but there was too much.

My hands hovered over her, the tremble in my fingers visible.

I looked for Lennon T. James. He'd know what to do. He always knew what—

Note: Lennon T. James was showing a coin to the overgrown river snake that had wounded his pet tiger.

It glinted in the light, attached to a cord of leather tied around the explorer's neck. I could hear the cadence of his voice as he spoke, but not his words.

Shirka whimpered. My attention went to her.

I had no idea where to start. Logic told me to ascertain the whereabouts of her wound. Panic made my body unable to respond.

She whined, a low keening sound.

"Shh..." I gently felt her legs. When I reached her paws, she tugged her paw out of my grip. Blood was left on my skin.

Leaving the wounds on her paws, for now, I softly felt around her neck, and worked my way down to her ribs. She had a gaping wound near the bottom of her ribcage.

Stem the blood flow.

It was an unbidden command from my mind. Was it from a long forgotten memory, a passage read in an unknown book, that I recalled this? I do not know. But I trusted it.

I tried ripping the bottom of my shirt. It was sturdy, tough, and would not tear. Unsheathing the knife I'd had no use for until now, I clumsily cut away a piece of my tunic.

The fabric was used to stem the blood flow, my hand pushing it down and applying pressure. My other hand made sure there was no other wound— indeed, I let out a sigh as I found no other.

Footsteps neared. I stiffened, halting my movements. Turning my head slightly, I saw the toes of Lennon T. James' boots. I relaxed and my attention fixed back on Shirka.

"Here." Lennon T. James crouched next to me, holding out white fabric soaked through.

I took it from him.

Giving Shirka a stroke behind her ears, I started with the large gash on her side.

Removing the piece of fabric I'd pressed against her side, I started cleaning the outer edges of the wound first, and worked my way inward.

Shirka held still for me. She voiced very little complaint, a sigh here or there, and had closed her eyes.

It kept bleeding.

I removed some bark, some mud, most of the blood clinging to unharmed areas of her skin. I slowed my movements when I could see very little debris, but I did not stop until Lennon T. James pulled my hands away.

"Hold her head."

Note: Lennon T. James kept a needle and a spool a thread in his pack, like Grandma Nodd from 17th Avenue.

As I cradled Shirka's head, time slowed even further.

The needle in his hands, a sweet silver, and the thread, a sturdy black, captivated me. It was woven deftly through the thick fur and hide, snapped off and knotted. Over and over again.

I didn't count them.

Note: Lennon T. James must have stitched previous wounds, as his stitches were deft and even. Or he must secretly love needlework.

When he finished, he took back the shirt I'd used to clean her wound. Refolding it, trying to find a clean spot, he softly mopped up the remaining blood on her wound.

"Were there any other wounds?"

My thumb brushed Shirka's cheek again. She didn't respond.

"Shae?" Lennon T. James gestured to his pet tiger. "Were there any other wounds?"

"Uh..." I tried to recall. "Her, um, her paws looked hurt. You should check her body again, in case, but I don't think so. I don't know."

His hands roamed her fur, gently prodding like I'd done minutes before. He then turned her paws, turning them around and scrutinising them. He didn't touch them, and I couldn't see. After a few moments, he sighed and sat back on his heels.

"Some cuts. They will have to heal on their own."

He got up. "Where is your pack and jacket?"

"Trees." I made a vague gesture behind me, where I'd stood watching Shirka being flung by a river snake.

His footsteps receded, heavy boots soft on the damp earth.

It felt like seconds, and he was back.

"Here, Shae. We'll stay here tonight." He crouched next to me, held out a flask.

I took it, unable to meet his gaze. My fingers shook as I took the flask, raised it to my lips. Water, crips and cool, washed away the tang of blood and river that had coated the insides of my mouth.

"I'll start a fire. Dry out your pack." He handed me the bag, which was still dripping.

He placed a hand on Shirka's head, gently stroked behind her ears, and then straightened. He started walking away, ducked beneath a lowhanging branch, and was gone from sight.

🙞

darlings, i'll keep it short...

thanks for reading! 

at this point, i'm writing because i enjoy spending time with shae & lennon t. james & shirka & wade lyong & mitch... if anyone else is enjoying their journey, that brings me joy. we all know joy is a good thing, so here we are. xxx. 

<3 klara