In Dire Straits

    Aeneas threaded his way through the tall grasses of the Blooming Fields until he got to the river, one of several that flowed into Lake Deephaven. He liked being near the water; he wasn't that good a swimmer yet, but he was sure he could become one if he practiced. He took a seat on the sandy bank, and looked out across the water with a soft smile. He liked collecting the water-smoothed sticks that sometimes washed ashore. It was as though they held a kind of magic, changed as they were by the river and presented as gifts to its bank. He had a growing collection.

    As he sat and watched, enjoying the breeze, he felt a tremor in the sand. The fur along his spine rose in an uneasy ridge, his instincts telling him something he was not old enough to recognize. Before he could begin to ponder the tremor's source, the whole earth began to shake, convulsing beneath his paws. With a yelp, he was tossed into the rapidly shifting current.

    It was a struggle to find which way was up. His paws churned beneath the surface, his whole body flailing, until finally his muzzle met air. He was able to gulp down a single lungful before being thrust under again, and now he began to feel an icy finger of panic. Water filled his mouth. His shoulder collided with some other current-bound debris, and he frantically tried to grab onto something. His paws scrambled over something wood-- bark? His claws found purchase in the rough grooves, and as the river water surged over his body, he was finally able to poke his nose into the air and gasp.

    In his paws he held the trunk of a tree, another casualty in the earthquake. He could see through blurred vision the wall of roots upended on the shore where the earth had shifted. But it was all he could do to hold on; he dared not try to get closer to the shore. What if he lost his grip and got swept away again? No, he needed help.

    He coughed, sputtering as he forced water from his throat, and was able to give a weak howl. He hoped someone heard it.

    He heard someone shout, their voice muffled by the roar of the river in his ears. He looked up, and made out the huge black and white form of his grandfather through squinting eyes. Relief seeped into his heart, even as he shivered against the water. Help had arrived. Aeneas held on tight as Byakko gingerly climbed out onto the tree, and waited to move until his grandfather was closer.

    He felt Byakko's teeth close on his scruff, and his paws scrabbled beneath him as he was lifted somewhat out of the water. Sopping wet, he struggled to get a grip on the wet wood, but he dug his claws in until he could hold up his own weight. His limbs shook. Slowly, with Byakko to guide him, he began to make his way back towards shore. He was careful to secure his claws in the rough bark with each step, keeping his body as low to the tree as possible. He eyed the shore, his stomach in knots. They would make it without falling back in, right?