A little something to get you through the weekend . . .

Warning: Some Language and Peril . . . (Do not try this at home)

"What makes you think they followed the river? We climbed higher up the mountain," Artemis asked as she allowed Roy to help her over a downed tree.

"Call it a hunch," he told her. "We were directly above their location, and yet we heard or saw nothing, right?"

"But you said we could have passed within a few feet of them and never have seen them," she reminded him.

"That's still true," he said, "but we've been up and down the mountain since then, and our shelter is the first place on that climb that was suitable. We barely made it. If they passed that way, they would have had to climb up that steep incline and then climb even higher than we were."

"Maybe they went into the trees?"

Roy shook his head. "No. Maybe Conner might have, but Robin knows better. He would have stopped him. The trees are too dangerous. When I was hunting, I found a lot of downed branches that were large enough to kill someone if he were hit by it when it fell. There is no way that Rob would have risked that."

Artemis thought about that. "Okay, but then what if Robin was hurt? Conner might have taken him into the trees thinking they would provide a windbreak if nothing else."

Roy frowned, but didn't look over. The way was littered with hidden obstacles that even walking atop the snow didn't prevent them from finding. Both of them had already fallen twice over the past mile.

"I'm beginning to think that maybe that is a possibility," he admitted.

"What? Which part?" She ducked to avoid a branch.

"That maybe Rob was hurt," Roy sighed.

Somehow, even though she had brought it up and they had both admitted that the likelihood that the boys could have survived the storm was slender to none, Roy's admission startled her. Artemis stopped to stare after him; her heart pounding in her chest.

"W-Why would you say that? I thought you said the batarang was proof that they survived the fall from the bridge."

"Did you leave anything behind that night? Any lines or arrows?" Roy stopped and faced her; several feet separating them. "You didn't, did you?"

Just the one arrow high in the tree had been the only thing Artemis hadn't been able to retrieve. She knew what Roy was getting at. They didn't know how long they would be stuck out here, and every resource they had was as valuable as gold.

"The batarang?"

He nodded. "Conner might have left it. He's not used to depending upon anything but his own brute strength to get by. He could have easily not thought a thing about leaving something as valuable as that batarang and its line behind, but you can bet your life that Robin wouldn't have . . . for exactly the same reason you retrieved everything you could. His life depends on what he carries in his utility belt. He wouldn't have left it behind if he could have helped it."

"Meaning . . . he couldn't help it," she summed it up for him.

"Conner's smart, though. He might have considered taking it if he had had time to think about it," Roy hypothesized. Rob was the better detective, but he was no slouch. "He might have needed to leave in a hurry . . . Or vice versa. If they had had to beat feet, maybe Rob just didn't have the time to grab the batarang."

"What would have made them leave in a hurry like that?" Artemis asked herself. "The wolves? But they were above the incline on the same level with us. Would they have chased the boys and then doubled back after us in a storm?"

"Doesn't seem likely, does it?"

Artemis gaze listed in the direction of the river at the same time as Roy's. They stared at the powerful, rushing water as it swept past them. It dipped and roiled around hidden and not so hidden boulders. Traveling that way would be dangerous even in a raft; even for someone experienced with whitewater.

"Do you think . . .?" Artemis' voice tapered off weakly.

"One or both of them landed in the water? It would make sense," he murmured, but God, he prayed he was wrong.

"That would kill them," she whispered. "That would kill them," she repeated louder.

"We have to assume that at least one of them made it out," he told her. "If one of them fell into the river, the other would have followed."

"And he would have had to move quickly in order to keep his teammate in sight," Artemis said. "He wouldn't have time to retrieve things like batarangs."

Roy turned and continued walking downstream. Artemis followed silently.

"It's possible that we're completely wrong. I mean, we have no idea what really happened," she finally blurted.

Roy sighed. "You're right. You're right. It's just a theory and probably a stupid one at that." He didn't want to believe it any more than Artemis did.

He was watching his footing which was the only reason that Artemis saw it first.

"Roy! Look!" Eyes wide, Artemis pointed toward the river.

A line stretched from a branch near the river's edge only to disappear into the churning water. Ice coated the line and when one followed it up, there was, still caught in the tree's limb, a grapple hook. They didn't have to look for the small imprint of a bat symbol to know who it belonged to.

Roy caught the line and pulled it out of the water. Mixed feelings washed over them both when they found nothing on the other end of the reinforced monofiliment; no grapple gun and no broken bird. Artemis fell to her knees and burst into tears. Her fingers dug into the icy clumps of snow; yanking a broken branch out of the white stuff and threw it, with a scream of frustration, into the rampaging river.

Roy said nothing at her outburst. He had already learned that she would be embarrassed by her loss of control; no matter how well-deserved it might be; no matter how brief it lasted. The same emotions ran through him. Anger that they hadn't found their friends yet, and an equal part relief for exactly the same reason.

That Roy wasn't losing it alongside her resided only in the fact that there had been no body on the other end of Robin's line when he had pulled it out of the water. Hope, the cruel bitch she was, still clung to his heart, even as his mind told him they couldn't have survived that. He busied himself with the task of untangling the grapple hook in an effort to free his mind from the, thankfully, unrealized image of the two of them having dragging their friends' frozen, lifeless bodies from the raging waters.

His brain didn't remain numb for long.

"Okay," he growled; his voice gruff with unspent emotion. "Someone went into the water. That doesn't mean both of them did. Someone detached the line from Robin's grapple gun. If Rob was still in the water, I seriously doubt he would have done it himself."

Artemis had already climbed clumsily back to her feet; back in control of herself. If it weren't for her shiny, bloodshot eyes, one might never have guessed she had broken down for those few minutes. But looking at her, none of those emotions were in evidence anymore. She was as numb as he felt.

"Conner," she murmured. "That still leaves Conner unaccounted for."

Roy didn't feel like theorizing anymore. He couldn't come up with a theory that was acceptable to them, and he really didn't want to be proven right with his dire predictions. Artemis, he could tell, had lost what hope she had. She no longer believed they would find either one of their teammates still alive, but was continuing onward because . . . because . . .

What the hell else had they left to do?

So, they would continue to search, if, for nothing else, then for the bodies . . . because he knew that neither Artemis or himself could stand the thought of leaving their teammates out here alone. They would find them if, for nothing else, than to take them home.

Oddly enough, the two archers had somehow reversed their positions on the fate of their friends. Artemis had already begun mourning them, but without bodies, Roy found himself still clinging to hope. It was battered to within an inch of its life, but even beaten down as it was, hope remained.

"Conner," Roy agreed, half-heartedly. "Right. We still need to find them."

The wind and the roar of the river drowned out the shushing sounds of their snowshoes and they followed the path downstream. No bickering, no bantering, no sort of conversation accompanied their trek this time.

Robin's fingers were aching through the gloves as he clung to the granite face of the cliff. The toes of his boots rested on a sliver of rock barely two inches in width. His grapple hook was stuck in a split in the rock just above his head. It was wedged in tight and refused to release.

He could have left it if he still had his other grapple hook with him, but he had lost it at the same time he had lost the grapple gun in the river. Conner had retrieved the gun, but hadn't taken the time to do the same for the hook itself. Considering he was intent on saving Robin at the time, he certainly couldn't fault the older boy his decision. Those few minutes were likely all that had stood between him and certain death. Ramón might have returned to the shack in those minutes before Conner could arrive on the scene, and then they would have both died out here.

As it was, this current predicament wouldn't even be that big of an issue if it were any other season but winter. The cold was hard enough to deal with. Although his suit was insulated, Robin was still shivering which really wasn't helpful when clinging to a sheer rock face four hundred feet above the valley floor. Had it been warm, however, he might have been able to free climb up the rock from here.

Might have . . . Robin snorted.

He looked above him. He had another five hundred feet left to go. If he were honest, this might be even a little beyond his scope on a good day. He looked for convenient hand and foot holds. Stretching up, he fit his boot against the next tiny ledge and pulled himself up the last few feet until he was even with his hook.

Robin bit his lip as he grabbed it with his right hand and attempted to wrestle it free. He tried twisting it; moving it up and down; jerking on it which, in hindsight, would have been a terrible idea had it actually come free at that point. He had no choice, however, but to free it unless he were to lower himself back down, but with only two hundred feet of line, he would be force to climb the last two hundred feet free style, and then still hike halfway around the mountain.

He growled in frustration, and immediately regretted it as it spurred another coughing fit. Robin clung to his perch as the cold wrenched his breath from his lungs in deep, harsh spasms that threatened to shake him off the side of the cliff. Cecil suddenly squirmed in his sling; his movements sending a thrill of fear shooting through the boy as the movement nearly unbalanced him.

The fox, finding a more comfortable position, settled down, and Robin's coughing eventually subsided, but it left him feeling exhausted as the adrenaline coursing through his system crashed. He squared his jaw, and gripped his hook once more. It would not end this way!

So far from the path that he was supposed to take, if Robin fell, it might take years before any remnants of his body were found. There was a distinct possibility that he was the only one of his team that might get out of this alive. He couldn't fail his team by giving up! Conner was depending on him . . . That was the reason why he chose this, the most dangerous route to reach Ramón's cabin; to give Conner a fighting chance.

"Come on; come on, you stupid hook," Robin jiggled the grapple hook again, and gave it another hard yank.

Little chips broke away as it came loose abruptly in his hand, and suddenly Robin was swinging out from the rock face with only the fingers of one hand and the edge of a boot keeping him from taking a header. Cecil squirmed again when his sling bumped against the granite. Robin's eyes were like saucers, but he kept his cool. He had the hook and it was still attached to his dangling grapple gun. Four hundred feet was a lot of time to reset the hook and shoot off another line, but he preferred not to lose any more headway, let alone experience the sudden stop that would come when he reached the end of his line.

Slamming into the side of the cliff would be brutal. He tried not to think about the fact that doing so would likely be enough to cause him to lose his grip of the gun.

He steadied himself and carefully tucked the hook beneath his chin. This was the tricky part. If he dropped the hook before he could reclaim his dangling grapple gun, he'd lose them both, and then he'd be screwed. So many damned things that could go wrong . . .

Taking a breath; not too deep so as spur another coughing fit, Robin grabbed the handle of the gun and gently retracted the loose line. He drew it up and carefully fit the hook into the end of the gun. A magnetic anchor would have been easier as it could be drawn in automatically; not that it would work with granite, but the claw hook required an extra shove to get it into position to fire. He turned the gun and hit the tip of the hook against the stone. The move was followed by a click.

Sighing, Robin raised his arm and fired the hook once more. He felt the vibrations of the hook connecting with the stone above him. When nothing fell back down past him, he gave the line an experimental tug. Seemed secure enough . . . Robin took the extra precaution of attaching part of the line to his belt this time, and then he hit recoil.

The speed was a lot slower than what he might have used had he been swinging between skyscrapers, but the wind became harsher as he rose higher and higher; buffeting him. Robin planted his feet; using them to control his ascent as he continued to scale the cliff's heights. Occasionally, he would have to stop when a coughing fit overtook him, and he would cling to his grapple gun; arms shaking. In hindsight, the idea of securing his line to him physically was a brilliant move on his part. If his arms gave out and he fell, he wouldn't hit the ground, at least.

It took him more than an hour to reach the top. It shouldn't have taken him this long, but the trouble with his hook had cost him valuable time as did all the time he had to pause to rest. The wind as well had slowed him down as well. It was just too strong for him to zip upward at any great speed; not without being sent spinning and swinging, possibly slamming him against the rock needlessly.

He looked up and saw a ledge of snow directly above him. That, too, created a problem. How heavy was that snow? If he brought it down on top of him, would it rip him free and carry him to the ground some nine hundred feet below him?

And, if that wasn't enough, Cecil had just woken from his nap and had begun squirming to be free of the sling!

Robin reloaded his hook. He couldn't see past the snow, but assumed there had to be trees. He could take a chance shooting through the snow; hoping the snow wouldn't collapse and drag him from the cliff face before the hook found a place to anchor. Or, he could anchor his line directly into the rock below the ledge, lie flat in that slight depression he saw, and purposely trigger the collapse.

The risk with the first option was clear. The second option held an added risk of starting a larger avalanche, but he could offset that by using a much smaller explosive; like one that he sometimes used to blow a lock. It shouldn't take much, he thought. Either way, Robin had to do something. The longer he was exposed to the wind, the greater the chance he would develop hypothermia.

Actually, he suspected that he was dealing with the first stages of that already as a particularly strong shudder passed through him.

Cecil was squirming more now; trying to find his way out.

Out of time, Robin chose option two. He anchored his hook, doubled checked that the line was attached to the ring on his belt, and got into position. He swung the sling around to his front so that he could wedge himself into the slight cavity better. Robin patted the lump that was Cecil; hoping to calm him, and then he searched his belt for the tiny explosive he needed.

And it was tiny. The size of a small button, in fact, to better fit inside of a keyhole. Robin pinched the device to activate it and flung it up into the snowy ledge.

The button ricocheted off of the hard ice that made up the bottom of the snow bank. He barely heard the 'pop' as the button exploded harmlessly in the open air of its descent.

"Aw, crud," Robin muttered in disgust. "You've got to be kidding me!"

If the ledge was frozen to that degree, it would take a stronger explosive than the one he'd just used, but again, to do more meant he risked starting a large avalanche . . . not to mention injuring himself by his proximity to the necessarily bigger explosion.

His dug through his belt and pulled out one of his exploding birdarangs. He activated the device, and flung it into the ledge with all of his might. The sharp edges bit into the ice enough to hold. He covered Cecil's sling with one arm as he ducked his head.

"Please stick, please stick, please stick!" He chanted in the remaining seconds.

This was bigger than a 'pop' . . . The resultant explosion echoed throughout the valley below him as sharp chips of ice and bits of shrapnel peppered him. It was the closest he'd ever been to one of these explosions. He grunted when he felt several sharp stings. A couple of larger pieces of shrapnel had torn their way through his armor and wedged themselves in his shoulder and arm. Something sliced his cheek. There was a stabbing pain in the back of his neck and again in his thigh . . .

How had he thought this was a good idea?

Robin glanced up in dismay. A sizable chunk had been blown out of it, but the ledge continued to hold. He could feel the warm trickles of blood oozing from the small, multiple wounds the explosion had given him. Although nearly all of his explosives were designed to be nonlethal; proximity mattered. He'd not survive a bigger blast.

Cecil had frozen, and then scrambled around in the blanket. It was only because Robin had practically rolled him in the material that he hadn't found his way free of it yet. He gripped the edges to prevent the fox from tumbling out of his safe nest.

And then he heard it.

The rumble . . .

A loud crack, like a gunshot, sounded above his head, and then the ledge began to move. Robin closed his eyes and turned his head to the side as what seemed like the entire mountain suddenly gave way around him.

REACTIONS? Reviews welcome. ;D

Cliffhanger . . . Anyone?