Chihiro: Drowning
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In the first moment she does not fear the river with its eddies and whorls and sucking pressure. She thinks only, with the single-minded clarity of the child she is, on the sneaker bobbing away unseen on the surface. Striking open fingers in the water churning dangerously about she struggles stubbornly to where she imagines her lost shoe must be, sleek and chubby legs kicking lopsided, awkward strokes. The tenacious presence of her other shoes rests as an odd weight on her heel more than as an obstruction, and she shakes her ankle impatiently at the feel, before the waters grow stronger and suddenly her breath is being torn away in a shiver of angry bubbles.
Now the waters she thought pretty earlier are cold and sharp, hidden dark currents rising from the unexpectedly endless bed of the river, cloying fingers that pry her mouth open. Panicked at this horrible, premature glimpse at mortality, she chokes on the water and feeling an acute terror not before known, she watches wide-eyed as the silver bubbles of her breath filter to the surface. She thinks she sees a face, horrid and shaped like a squashed, mottled duck with two sharply webbed hands moving ominously toward her, and she tries to scream.
The monster pulls back, hideous displeasure on its malformed face, and as her lungs hitch in desperate search of air to keep her alive, she thinks she might be crying. Too much water is around her, as it is, and she belatedly starts – sluggishly, worn – to move toward the surface; the thick, chilly waters from the slick ebony depths below thunder into her lungs and she tries to cough but chokes on that as well.
Again the creature returns, bowl-head gleaming sickly in the entrancing bleus of the river as it moves in such a manner as to be both ungainly and efficient. She is too dizzy – fear, rivers in her chest, too small to swim like Daddy, fingers numb – to remember which way is the route to safety and the comfort of land. As the child weakens the predator draws near, malevolent and intently joyous on its weakening hunted, and she feels a natural surge of final, desperate adrenaline bidding her to fight or flee.
She does neither as a peaceful, fiery glint of white explodes through the deep, darkening waters as a vengeful ribbon; the creature vanishes, terrified. A faint fuzziness along her vision does little to detract from her surprise at the sight of a lean, scaly torso whipping in and out of vision, driving the monster back. In spite of the gathering darkness, she nearly grins with cruel childish triumph, but fails nonetheless, tired and feeling so very heavy. Acutely she misses her parents, deeply afraid and wholly convinced she will not have the chance to see them again as the torso shimmers close to her.
And then she feels, down from the very tips of her drifting brown hair to the numbed curves of each toe, all her pain and the growing sensation of fire behind her thin ribs and her fear, all of it; these fade when a pair of powerful, humble, proud green eyes slanted like a curious feline's fix on her own soot-shaded ones, and she senses her eyes rounding in breathless response. She breathes out a quivering column of water and air, distracted briefly on a small level by the glittering streams, and blinking slowly she returns to those unmoving felines eyes watching her carefully. A swell of gentle muscle covered with soft scales bumps around her arms, forming and idle protective loop that tilts her upright and keep her drifting arms and legs together in a securing embrace.
It seems, in that distant part of her mind not fascinated with the ethereal coils twirling in and out of sight around her, as if he – she thinks her underwater savior must be so – is not simply in the water, but of the river itself. Her hands move slowly through the current suddenly gentle and tender in its gasping tugs and drifts, chubby fingers splaying out to shyly touch the elegant muzzle, and she realizes she may not be breathing, but she no longer hurts. Gratefully, but still too breathtaken to manage a thankful smile, she brushes her fingertips, curious, over the smooth ripple of fur encircling the canid nose; his lips pull back, reflexively, in either grimace or grin showing rows of sharp, thick teeth that somehow do not frighten her. He thrusts his muzzle into her upturned, cupping palms, chilly nose pressing surprisingly against her snub nose.
And she watches the bubbles drift silently from her mouth to pop on the surface as the dragon, the river, moves beneath her, flowing like an ivory thread to take her through the softening green-blue waves, taking her to the surface as her brown hair wafts and her lost shoe bobs steadily away.
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Author's Notes: There are a great many 'how-Chihiro-and-Haku-meet-again' fanfics, so I wanted – stubbornly – to do something different; that is, how they met (or my version thereof). My apologies if this has been done before. Anyway, I think this will be collection of vignettes, poems, and novellas all under the same collective title (Rivers Spun of Ivory), but do leave a comment. ^^