He could hardly hear her sputtering, but by the ungainly way she had surfaced, he concluded about the same for himself. Of course she couldn’t swim, that would be far too bloody useful of her. What did they teach women in this society?
Even for a practised swimmer, however, the waves today were choppy, and the currents might be even stronger. He found his wand and drew it, but she had sunk again out of sight, so, with all the haste he could muster, Conall flicked at the line to see it knot itself securely around the ship. (A sturdier bit of it than the railing, hopefully.) Winding the other end of the rope around his arm in a state of muted alarm, he drew in a deep breath, left his wand in safety on board, and threw himself off the ship, aiming in a dive for the last place he’d seen her.
Summer it may be, but the water was fiercely cold, and the salt stinging against his eyes as he opened them, trying to find her in the murky water. She’d been below the surface already - no doubt her water-logged clothes were three times the weight of his - so it took a moment of frantic searching, lungs half-bursting, before his outstretched hands found anything like a human limb.
Clamping onto her, he kicked with his feet to drag her upwards to the surface, fighting against the waves to break out in the fresh air, catch his breath, and keep Fairchild’s face above the surface to boot. Looked like the line was still holding, at least. “I’ve - got you,” he muttered, not sure she’d hear him anyway, but hoping she wouldn’t start flailing again and make this any harder.
Even for a practised swimmer, however, the waves today were choppy, and the currents might be even stronger. He found his wand and drew it, but she had sunk again out of sight, so, with all the haste he could muster, Conall flicked at the line to see it knot itself securely around the ship. (A sturdier bit of it than the railing, hopefully.) Winding the other end of the rope around his arm in a state of muted alarm, he drew in a deep breath, left his wand in safety on board, and threw himself off the ship, aiming in a dive for the last place he’d seen her.
Summer it may be, but the water was fiercely cold, and the salt stinging against his eyes as he opened them, trying to find her in the murky water. She’d been below the surface already - no doubt her water-logged clothes were three times the weight of his - so it took a moment of frantic searching, lungs half-bursting, before his outstretched hands found anything like a human limb.
Clamping onto her, he kicked with his feet to drag her upwards to the surface, fighting against the waves to break out in the fresh air, catch his breath, and keep Fairchild’s face above the surface to boot. Looked like the line was still holding, at least. “I’ve - got you,” he muttered, not sure she’d hear him anyway, but hoping she wouldn’t start flailing again and make this any harder.
