Day Two: Tranquil
Word Count: 506
Aranhil closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as water beat down his shoulders. The day had been as long as his hair was blond, that is to say, very. He and Dorn had finally found a safe spot, devoid of bullettes and blights, to set up camp for the night. It was far more pleasant than the usual cave or occasional tree.
They had laid out their bedrolls just far enough from the riverbank to avoid getting wet. A cool breeze blew off the water, taming the oppressive heat that tried to settle over the campsite. While Dorn sweeped the nearby forest floor for firewood, Aranhil followed the river up to find a series of small waterfalls, one of which poured over a sedimentary overhang just large enough for Aranhil to squeeze into without getting wet.
He now stood, stripped, beneath the white rush of water, carding fingers through his fine hair. Once he could feel the last knot come loose beneath his touch, he waded further into the crystalline water that pooled before being swept, crashing over the next step of rocks. He flipped himself in the water just before his toes could lose touch with the sandy river bottom to float on his back. His hair nested under his head, the shoulder-length locks cushioning his ears from the roar of the waterfall.
The sunlit clouds above burned themselves into his retinas before he gave in to the urge to close his eyes. All at once, the world muted around him, the only tangible sensation being the muffled roar of the waterfall as the water circulated beneath him. The white noise massaged his muscles, tense from a hard day of traveling,
Dorn had insisted that they follow a squirrely and over-enthusiastic monk who claimed he knew a shortcut through the swamp-ridden valley between them and their destination. Aranhil had tried to reason with the barbarian, convince him to stick to the path they actually had a map for, but the larger man refused to hear it. Thanks to his companion’s exuberant zeal about the shortcut and its promised savings of three travel days, they had a slight… incident involving two very large, very angry, mountain trolls and a handful of slimes.
The entire ordeal was something the elf would much rather leave behind. He was still angry at Dorn for letting a slime get too close to him, though. He nearly lost a foot! Aranhil took another deep breath to ground himself, shaking his balance in the water for a split second, and lightly paddled back to the center of the small pool. The water soothed his burned foot, it just had to be an acid slime, and pulled him back into a gentler stream of consciousness. He looked back to the sky, blue stained glass eyes reflecting the atmosphere and searching for a way to slow time. But he could hear the water escaping down the rocks and Dorn’s heavy footsteps trudging up the steep hill Aranhil had taken to find the waterfall.
