a hair's breadth

NOITCERRU The water was cool against the back of his throat - so cool, so sweet, against the harsh snaps of rainwater he was used to. The stallion cruised along the length of the lake. His hooves skimmed the surface, leaving a strike dissipating into the water - like the mark of a claw against bark, like a scratch into the very surface. He risked going down lower, letting not just his hooves but risking his weak fetlocks dip under the water. It was so cool and so refreshing that he let them stay there, letting his legs hang freely. Water across his legs was so rare because of the risks, because of the dangers - couldn't he just enjoy this, for a moment? Noitcerru closed his eyes, lulled by the silence, the peace of the place. No. Something was wrong. When his eyes flashed open it was like he'd entered another world. Everything was tinged violet, a sickly sweet plum coating everything in his vision. Wait, what? Noitcerru's stomach churned with the familiar prickling of instinct, a primal awareness of the Rift. Overhead the clouds were changing, something shifting in the skies above. The birdman expanded his wings to their full span, feathers reaching in all directions and ripples casting down his plumage. He flapped his wings once and then twice and then three times, great blows to the wind and water and dragging a tide behind him until he scraped to a stop, his hooves flailing amid the indigo air. The wave washed over his lower body. As it dissipated Noitcerru looked up at the flash of lightning, the jagged blade of light striking across the sky. That wasn't all. The once peaceful day was quickly deteriorating, falling apart as quickly as it had formed. Clouds were gathering, dominating the clear sky and lying flat against the lake and the mountain. It was a single ceiling, pushing down as if suffocating the land. it was heavy, like a physical weight slamming down on what lay below - and it was all bathed in that sickly purple, a deep stifling indigo that robbed him of breath. The crest running down Noitcerru's face began to rise, flaring red feathers in alarm. The birdman didn't speak, not if there wasn't anyone to listen to him, but a sharp cry emerged from his jaws nonetheless, a recognition of the danger he had put himself in. It was like the screech of an owl. His wings hadn't touched the water - yet. But being submerged once would be enough to render them useless, too heavy and bogged down to achieve flight or to lift himself out. And he couldn't swim. A dagger of fear twisted in Noitcerru's chest and the birdman beat his wings again and again, his eyes anxiously scanning the skies. The sirens were the last of his problems. He lifted himself up one beat at a time, the rumbling deep in his chest. He couldn't hurry - the winds were picking up, and they could easily drag him down to the lake's edge. He knew this but he struggled anyway. His heart pounded in his chest. He had to be up in the air - had to be away from the water. He looked up overhead, seeing the white form of someone else. Against the clouds he couldn't identify who it was, whether they were friend or foe, Helovian or Riftian. But Noitcerru screeched at the stranger anyway - part a call for help and part a command to leave. Did they know that it was dangerous? That in a few fragile moments they'd be facing a storm? "Talk." @Erthë run boy run this world is not made for you

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