The difference between heroes and normal people is nothing more than how one thinks in situations such as these. True, it would take an act of heroism to bound across the carts and after the girl, but heroism is not the strict domain of heroes. It can encompass anyone at any time, given the proper circumstances. Heroes are the ones that don’t let the heroism pass. More to the point, they don’t even know it’s there when it happens. To them, it’s just the way things are. It’s that clarity of view that allows them to see past the rush of the heroic actions and adrenalin, past the terror and the pain, and think about the next move not just as someone trying to survive, but as someone going beyond that and continuing the mission they set out on.
It is that difference that allowed Johan to block out the pain of the noise and the fear of his fight to the water surface. He ignored the truth of the situation and looked around just in time to see the blue-clothed arm of the girl below the surface dip down and out of sight. With one quick tug back on the rope for whatever slack he could convince the unseen people above to give, he pulled himself back down below the water (not that it was hard, the action being what the water wished to happen anyway) and reached out for the quickly disappearing form of the girl below him.
His hand met her wrist with the soft embrace of a lover, followed quickly by her clamping down on his own wrist in the death grip that it was. Johan hauled up his arm and the girl attached to it with a feat of strength he’d never have thought possible, using his other hand to pull them both back to the surface and take another lifesaving breath.
Heroes are rarely given such an easy time of it. That is the best explanation anyone could think of for why, after all that bravery and effort to save the girl, the rope snapped from the repeated rocking motion against the sharp edge of the road, and the two below were once more tossed back into the Thunder Head.
The forces at work on their lower extremities were breathtaking as the water churned to pull them back down. At the same moment, Johan was extremely thankful the girl apparently knew how to swim (as did he, and very well after the incident with Esgona years before), and terribly regretful he’d jumped in with all his clothes, boots included. They were all doing him no favors in trying to stay afloat.
It was then, as he struggled harder to stay up, his free arm brushed against the hard, forgotten handle of the dagger he carried. Out of options and time as the girl was beginning to go under once more, he reached into his shirt as quickly as he could manage without sinking again, pulled the knife from its leather sheath, and turned to the rock face before him that marked the edge of the Thunder Head.
What he saw was not encouraging. The face was smooth as glass from the years of pounding torture from the water and the sound that bounced off it. It was dark gray, polished, and imposing. Nowhere did he see a spot good enough to wedge the knife for a place to hold.
The girl went under, torn backwards by a sudden surge, pulling Johan with her. He held his grip, but her body was lost to the lake. A fraction of a second before he was taken with her, his eyes locked on what he believed was a miniscule crack in the rock face. He swung his arm wildly, bringing down the blade into the hard surface as his head was lost below the water.
The blade hit the rock and sunk in like it was made of warm butter. He had hit it! A million to one stab, and he had hit it! Luck truly did favor the bold.
The knife held, acting as a solid and unmoving grip in the rock. His reservoirs near empty, he used whatever power he could muster from his exhausted body to heave up the girl once more and himself to the surface, another act of inhuman strength by this point in the battle. Whatever submerged whirlpool had a grip on her let go and allowed her to be pulled back to the surface.
Once there, Johan pulled them both to where the knife stood firm while the next rescue line came from above and pulled the girl to safety, followed by Johan.
Just as he was beginning to rise, his eyes met the knife as he pulled it out. There he saw something frightening and amazing before he was pulled to the shore of the mighty Thunder Head.
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It was many hours later when the caravan finally came to a stop for the night. They had made it far away from the Thunder Run and the lake below it. Still, even here, hours up the Paieleh River Valley, the echo could still be heard through the towering walls around them. It was much more tolerable now, and people could speak in normal tones and had no need of headwear.
Except for Johan.
His ears rang, his head pounded; his eyes still blurred from the power, the noise, and the effort he’d put in to saving the girl. Once pulled from the water, he was immediately taken to a cart with some unseen figure wrapping his head from the sound once more. Not that it did any good. Even wrapped, his ears hurt. At times they felt like they were bleeding. He hoped it was just
