Loki pushed the throttle further. The water below looked as if it was a forged sea-green blade, slick as ice as it ran. The wind howled in his ears as it tossed his hair around his head. He leaned forward and it flowed back to allow him to see. He did not hear any sounds of pursuit, yet, but they were sure to soon come.
How unlike his brother it had been, to stay behind disguised as Loki. Unquestionably it had been reckless, nothing new there, but to do something so unselfish... and to have come up with such a plan. Perhaps the oaf did have a brain in that thick skull of his after all.
Loki heard the sound of blades spinning behind him, and turned around. Pursuit had arrived - and in full force.
He'd been staying close down to the water, but now rose, climbing up into the air so that he was above those perusing him.
The clear cold air stung his lungs and made his eyes water, but he pushed it out of his mind. Better to be above their shooting range if it should come to that - highly unlikely - and they also could not drop down onto his craft this way. Even with these two possibilities almost crossed out, he began to weave back and forth. He was not going to get caught, not now.
Straight ahead the cliff face rose up above out of the water, stretching to impossible heights above so that they pierced the sky. They would be impossible to rise above - and so it was a good thing that he wasn't going over.
He was going through - at least part of the way.
Closer and closer it came, and Loki correctly assumed that those following him would fall back, for the most part. Just one was left on his tail.
Suddenly he pushed hard on the throttle so that the nose of his craft dipped downwards towards the water, right before he would have crashed into the cliff side. As he fell, he secretly was a little glad to not hear the sound of those behind him crashing. He turned just as sharply inwards, towards the wall beside him. The passage that he entered was small - from the outside no more than a cave opening, a crack in the cliff-side. But he of all people knew that appearances could be deceiving.
Still, it was extremely narrow, and as he raced along against himself, against time, the walls on either side crept closer and closer. The wind was no longer a dull roar, but instead a shriek that rose in volume to scratch at his ears - a beast magnified by the walls that were now only an arm's length away.
Only a hand's breath away.
He pictured Emilie.
An inch.
He concentrated on not only directing the craft -
A breath -
but on wanting to be where she was-
When he came out on the other side; he came out in another world.