Page 38 of The Weaver

The side of the ravine rushed up before him. Mud, dirt, and stone melted away, flowing down the steep canyon wall like runoff from the storm. Ahmya screamed. Rekosh’s claws raked through the debris, and his arms and legs scraped the ravine wall, but there was nothing of which to catch hold.

There was no way to stop the fall.

He wrapped all four arms around Ahmya, cocooning her, and kicked away from the side of the ravine.

“Rekosh,” she said breathlessly.

Not how I hoped to hold her. Not how I hoped to hear her speak my name.

They fell for but a moment, yet that moment stretched on and on like a bolt of silk unraveling into a single thread. The roar of the wind mingled with the drumming of rain, with the hiss of water rushing below and the ragged whispers of shaking leaves and boughs, with the heavy splashes of stone and dirtplunging into the river. The pounding of his hearts lay beneath it all, setting a frantic rhythm.

Rekosh’s back struck the water. Pain burst across his hide, concentrated more intensely on his numerous wounds. The churning river swallowed him, deafening him to all but its fierce flow, and its current snatched control from him. Rekosh tumbled and spun, his limbs striking unseen obstacles. When his left shoulders crashed into a large stone, the strength and pain of the impact forced his arms open.

Ahmya slipped from his grasp.

No!

Somehow, he fought his way to the surface. Somehow, Ahmya made it with him. He heard her suck in air even as he filled his lungs.

“Rekosh!” Ahmya called out. “I’m here!”

Turning, he glimpsed his mate through the water and hair clinging to his face. She was swimming toward him.

Then the river dragged Rekosh back under.

Blinded by the dark water, he fumbled for Ahmya. He felt her grabbing at him, and caught one of her hands, but his hold slipped as the water’s punishing current threatened to tear them apart.

The river dipped, dropping Rekosh into a swirling section that spun him about violently. Ahmya’s hand was ripped out of his grasp.

A cold unlike any Rekosh could ever have imagined flowed out from his chest, colliding with the thrumming heat of his panic to create a sickening storm.

Using all his limbs, he struggled to right himself, again forcing his head above the surface. The river’s roar was so powerful that even the thunder was dull in comparison. Rekosh swept hair and water out of his eyes and searched for any sign of his little mate.

That inner cold deepened, penetrating his bones. Branches,bark, and leaves floated atop the murky, frothing water, but where was Ahmya? He’d had her only a moment ago. He’dhadher.

He called out her name. His voice scratched his throat as it came out, but neither that pain nor any other would match his agony if she was?—

She is safe, he told himself.

Rekosh would accept nothing less.

Ahmya splashed up from the murk several segments ahead of him—first her head, that dark hair a tangled mess in her face, and then her arms, moving wildly to keep her upright.

Yet something was dragging her down.

She brought her hands in to clutch the straps of her bag, wrestling with them. The current dragged her under before she could free herself from them.

His hearts stuttered, and he fought to close the distance between them. “Ahmya!”

The backpack bobbed to the surface momentarily, no longer on Ahmya’s back, before vanishing into the murky river.

A single word echoed inside Rekosh, instilled with impossibly volatile emotion.

Please.

Ahmya’s head reemerged, and she gasped for air.

“Ahmya! Here!”

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