Chapter 6

Raging River

Hundreds of thoughts spun through his head as he tumbled to his death. He had expected to plunge into the hard ground beneath, and then it would be all over. In a moment of unimaginable pain, he attempted abolish it in the quickest way possible. Death. Eyes sealed shut, welcoming his demise, head spinning faster and faster, a lurch of regret tugging at him. And then...

Impact.

Pain.

Relief.

Relaxing.

Chilly.

Cool Currents, drifting through his fur.

Was this what dying was like? He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. But he could feel, and he felt... like he was drifting. He fluttered his eyes open, seeing nothing but blue. They stung horribly, but not like fire. Like...like water...

But that's impossible, he thought, there's not any water near that cliff. Could I be underwater?

Senses surging back into his limbs, he struggled to find the surface. Bubbles exploded from his muzzle. He kicked to where he thought was upwards. His tail was still badly burned and partially crushed. The temporary desire to die was gone. He had to find the surface!

Now he could see it. The orange blazes wisping above the mysterious water. The powerful currents dragging branches and debris. Heart pumping wildly, he kicked and pushed and swam. He could already feel the glorious air pouring into his lungs! Just before his head burst above the surface, Aonair began to feel dizzy; chest feeling like it was being crushed.

The first breaths he took while paddling through the fire scene were horrific. The once lovely island now burned in agony. Dark smoke rose above the air. Smaller fires burned what still remained. The water was turning cloudy with ash. And the waves carrying him seemed to be growing stronger.

Scared and wounded, the pup clumsily clung to a lump of wood floating in the water. His eyes and throat felt a bit better from the smoke after drifting underwater for a few minutes, but pain from his tail, burns and bruises lingered. Exhaustion crept into his little body. He was tired. He was hurt. But he held on, sticking his muzzle in the air and kicking his torso above the water.

Finally, Aonair regained his sense of direction. The harsh, gushing current softened. He kept his claws dug into the branch as he let his body go limp. For a second his drifted, allowing the ashes and soot to creep from his pelt like sand. Then, he hauled his head above the branch to figure out where he was. The river that had caught him from his death was steadily pulling him away from the island. As the current cast him out further, the island grew smaller and smaller. By now, the shiny, colorful bit of paradise was now a pile of rubble and ashes with clouds of dust and smoke rising from it. Aonair wasn't too attached to the island, but he thought it was depressing to see something so beautiful die such a painful death.

It's ok. The island doesn't have a soul, or feelings. I was one of the only things that depended on this place. I was going to leave later today, anyway, so it shouldn't matter to me that it's gone now. So why do I feel so sad about the island being destroyed? He thought. He couldn't help but feeling sorry for all the tiny animals, the pygrats, squirrels and rabbits that suffocated, or lost their homes to fire. The fish that would painfully die in the boiling, ash-cloudy pools that were once their sanctuaries. And espeacially the gorgeous feathered songbirds of scarlet, blue and green. They would sing such beautiful songs. Now they had no home.

As Aonair began to shake, both from the freezing water and his sorrow, he noticed the red, amber cliffs from where he had started. The scrublands.

Were the cliffs always that high? They seemed different in his memory.

He couldn't find the spot were he had attempted to fly and had fallen. But the daunting memory was still fresh in his mind. The terrifying feeling of freefalling. The painful twist of his paw as he crashed into scaly back of the fish. The brief, blissful feeling of flight. If only it hadn't ended so badly.

The cold seawater was now unpleasantly seeping into his tawny fur, making him feel soggy and wet.

Aonair turned his muzzle to the direction the current was pulling him. Along the shoreline of red sandy slopes was a string of smaller islands. After that, there was what looked like a mainland, grassy and wooded hills. Nothing like Aonair had ever seen before. What would he do then?

I know what I'll do, he thought, I'll go-

Aonair was snapped from his thoughts by sweet, short chirps. Looking up from the gurgling waves, the pup saw dozens of birds swooping and swirling away from the suffocating smoke. At first sight, they appeared to be lost. But Aonair saw that they were headed for the new land, of grasses and trees. Aonair was drifting towards this new land as well. Soon he would wash up on shore. It was comforting to know the sweet birds would still sing to him in the coming, lonely nights.

By now, the sun was setting on deadly red sky, as if the world was mourning the loss of the kind, nurturing, Island of the Pygrats.