Without warning, the substrate beneath his paws vanished. Rökkvi was sure they had chosen to chart a path over solid ground, especially as his companion was presumably quite experienced in sight-based decisions. Suspended in the limbo of mid-air, Rökkvi deliberated over the trustworthiness of his friend, second-guessing all the time they had spent together, before the alarm of falling actually kicked in. Kæri afi, er ég að fara að deyja?

Where was the ground? How long would it be before his body slammed into rocks and broke? Rökkvi heard plenty of stories of wolves tumbling down mountains, cracking their skulls, shattering their bones; mostly in the form of warnings from his family, and very much emphasized to him in particular, so he knew what to expect. Well--he knew to expect an explosive end. He hadn't expected the way the air was sucked out of his lungs, or how his paws swam helplessly in search of purchase, or the agony of waiting for impact.

Then it came--not with a crack, but with a splash. Cold shocked his body. Rökkvi sank like a stone, stunned, before it occurred to him that he was still alive and had to breathe. He thrashed until his guardian angel plucked him from the current and heaved him onto a crisp, cold shoreline. Snow. Familiar and welcome--they hadn't been walking on snow before, had they? He lay sprawled for long seconds, gasping, struggling to wrap his mind around what happened just then. Seiya's voice drew him back to reality. Was this reality? Are we dead? he asked, voice hoarse and waterlogged. He didn't bother trying to stand, he knew where Seiya was from the sound of him retching. Rökkvi was scared to move in case he would find that some part of his body did in fact break. Wide, unseeing eyes probed the darkness, not searching for answers; his senses were elsewhere, trying to rationalize his entire being.