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[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]Zelia lingered at the edge of the gathering campers, her fingers tapping out a restless rhythm against her thigh, not out of nerves but the low-grade thrill fizzing beneath her skin. The air still shimmered faintly with the echo of River’s feat— sand scuffed, water settling, the scent of sweat and churned earth coiling together like the after-breath of a storm. He had caught his breath by the time she approached, light on her feet, as if she floated more than stepped. The others lined up behind her like a row of dominos waiting for gravity, she stepped neatly out of line. 

[color=EBCEED]“River,”[/color] she said softly, not wanting the crowd to hear. When he lifted his gaze, she offered a small, apologetic smile, bright but brittle at the edges. [color=EBCEED]“Before I run… I should tell you.”[/color] Her voice stayed steady, though she could feel her pulse ticking fast beneath the words. [color=EBCEED]“I can’t swim. I have a thing with water, I just…can’t.”[/color] She shifted, not quite looking at him. Son of Poseidon, did that make them like… first cousins, or something? Their family tree was beyond fucked. She didn’t ask for modification, didn’t plead; she merely offered the fact like one might hand over a forgotten key. [color=EBCEED]“Should I run extra laps?”[/color]

[color=86a8ad]"[i]Oh,[/i]"[/color] River mused, his face showing his apparent confusion or the lack of consideration at the thought that there could actually be campers who couldn’t swim. It had been so ingrained in him since infancy, that he just naturally assumed everyone could swim. His free hand raised to scratch at the back of his head, attempting to think of a solution quickly. [color=86a8ad]"Right… [i]umm[/i], do you know what a suicide is? You can run those alongside the pool—quarter, half, then three quarters—and we can set up swimming lessons after all the assessments."[/color]

Zelia blinked at him, once, twice, surprised not by the arrangement but by how gently he offered it. Most people, when she admitted she couldn’t swim, reacted with disbelief or laughter, or awkward reassurance. River just… adjusted, like he’d shifted a current around her rather than trying to drag her through it. Something in her shoulders unclenched.

[color=EBCEED]“Yeah,”[/color] she murmured, nodding. [color=EBCEED]“I know suicides. Track team made sure of that.”[/color] A small breath of a laugh escaped her, wry and airy, barely a disturbance in the morning chill. She’d run more suicides than she cared to remember, enough to know she’d hate them, enough to know she could do them anyway. The thought of sprinting back and forth along the pool’s edge didn’t frighten her. It grounded her. She could run anywhere. Running meant earth beneath her, not water hungry enough to pull her under.

But swimming lessons— Her throat tightened before she could stop it. She glanced at the pool, the surface dark and glittering like a polished stone with teeth beneath. Cold crept up her spine, uninvited and familiar. Half her life she’d avoided water deeper than her ankles. Half her life she’d trained herself not to look too long at lakes or deep ends or the color that happened when blue turned to black. Half her life, she’d pushed back the memory of the accident that took her mom from her.

River waited, patient, steady as a tide that refused to rush her. Zelia inhaled, slow and shaky around the edges, then nodded again, smaller this time, more fragile, like the gesture might crack if she pressed it too hard. [color=EBCEED]“Swimming lessons… I don’t know if I can.”[/color] The admission tasted like metal, honest, raw, pulled from somewhere soft. She didn’t meet his eyes. If she did, she worried she’d see disappointment that wasn’t actually there. [color=EBCEED]“But I can try. If the water isn’t too deep.”[/color]

The last words came out quiet, not timid but reverent, as if she were making a pact with something old and shadowed inside herself. A promise with conditions. A bravery that had limits but was still bravery. She finally looked at him, a thin, determined smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. [color=EBCEED]“Fair warning though—I’m probably going to panic. Dramatically.”[/color] It was lighthearted, offered like a joke, but her pulse was thundering beneath her skin. Still— she said she’d try, so she would. 

The corner of River’s mouth tugged into a lopsided smile that showed a faint bit of sympathy beyond his otherwise austere demeanor. [color=86a8ad]"I won’t let you drown. It’s an important skill to have and you’ll be able to say you conquered a fear."[/color] He shrugged his shoulders slightly. [color=86a8ad]"Two birds one stone."[/color]

While she wasn’t sure how she felt about that, she trusted her— maybe —cousin about as far as she could throw him when he came to water, there wasn’t much Zelia could do about it. He was [i]trying to help[/i] and that’s all that really mattered. She nodded once, respectful, resolute, then drifted back to her position at the line, rolling her shoulders as anticipation gathered in her chest like wings.

When her turn came, she inhaled the cold, crisp air and stepped forward. The arena stretched before her, a skeleton of wooden beams, ropes, water, and distance, and instead of dread, something bright bloomed low in her ribs. The tires waited first, black rings set out like messengers of chaos, but Zelia slipped into motion without hesitation. Her feet found rhythm almost instantly, darting and threading through the pattern like a dancer tracing familiar choreography. Frost fled before her heat, breath puffing against the morning as she cleared the final tire with a tiny hop, landing light as a bird.

The hurdles rose next, long logs stacked higher and higher, each one a line to cross. She scaled them with a kind of airy determination, hopping the first with playful ease, swinging a leg over the second as if mounting it were part of the fun, her momentum never truly faltering. On the third she nearly misjudged the width and let out a small, surprised laugh as she wobbled— but she recovered quickly, pressing off the log with a burst of energy that carried her to the top of the fourth. The wood felt warm beneath her palms, sun-soaked despite the chill, and she balanced a heartbeat longer than necessary before dropping gracefully to the ground.

The low crawl swallowed her next, a shadowed stretch of sand and grit where she sank to her elbows without complaint. The earth was cool, the grains clinging to her skin, streaking her forearms, catching in her hair like stray stars. She moved with surprising efficiency, her breath steady, her body compact and quick. When she pulled herself free at the end, she rose in a single fluid motion, brushing her hands down her thighs— not out of discomfort, but to savor the feeling of dust and effort already marking her journey.

Ahead, the rope dangled in its tall wooden frame, swaying like it sensed her coming. She grinned, the electric excitement in her chest sparking again, and seized the rope with eager hands. Her climb was not flawless, she slipped once and nearly lost her grip, but her movements were measured after the slip, almost playful, as if she were greeting an old friend rather than tackling an assessment. The wind brushed her cheeks at the top, carrying the scent of woodfire, and she descended with controlled speed, landing lightly and shaking out her hands with a grin that felt too big for her face.

Then came the balance beams, narrow as knife-edges and far more judgmental. Zelia hesitated only half a breath before stepping onto the incline. Her arms rose instinctively, wrists loose, fingers fluttering in tiny adjustments as she crossed. She wavered once, letting out a quiet [color=EBCEED]“whoa—okay!”[/color] under her breath, then laughed at herself, the sound bubbling up and drifting behind her. By the time she touched down on solid earth again, her pulse was singing— not with fear, but exhilaration.

And then the pool came into view. Zelia skidded to a halt at the edge of the pool, well, as much as someone could gracefully skid, breath fogging in front of her as she pivoted toward the gleaming water. It stretched long and glassy beside her, deceptively calm, reflecting the pale winter sky like a trap waiting to spring. Her stomach dipped, but she pushed the feeling down, deeper than the water itself.

Suicides. Easy. Familiar. Earthbound.

She inhaled once, sharp and bracing, then sprinted forward. The first dash was clean, fast, almost joyful. Her feet slapped the packed sand with a rhythm that sparked through her veins, the kind of cadence she’d once lived by on every school track she’d ever set foot on. She touched the first marker and whipped around, loose-limbed and springy, ponytail snapping behind her like a curled streamer caught in the wind.

By the second length, a flush began rising along her throat, blooming across her skin in warm, rosy waves. The cold air did nothing to tame it; if anything, it made the heat beneath her flesh burn brighter. Zelia pushed harder, leaning into the run, arms pumping, breath spilling from her lips in short bursts that puffed white and then vanished.

Quarter-line. Back.
Half-line. Back.
Three-quarters. Back.

Her lungs began to sting around the edges, nothing alarming, just that familiar spark of effort turning into strain, muscles waking and calling out in warm, insistent pulses. Sweat gathered between her shoulder blades, sliding in a thin line down her spine. More beaded at her temples, glittering against her hairline, catching in the stray strands plastered to her forehead. She touched the marker, spun, ran again. The scent of the water became sharper the longer she stayed close to it— clean, cold, unsettling in a way that prickled along her ribs. She focused on the sand instead. On her breath. On the way her legs still carried her, even as fatigue curled its fingers around her calves. Her strides stayed quick, if a little shorter now. Her exhale hitched once, just once, but she shoved through it, pushing off her toes as she bolted toward the final mark. She tapped it with the tips of her fingers, then staggered a single half-step before catching herself, chest rising and falling in sharp waves.

Her heart thrummed behind her ribs, hard and bright. Her cheeks felt sun-warm despite the cold. The back of her shirt clung to her from sweat, dampening the fabric over her shoulder blades.

Zelia hit the base of the towering log ladder with the momentum of someone who refused to let fatigue make decisions for her. The rungs— thick, rounded, forced her to shift her rhythm immediately. She leapt for the lowest one, fingers curling around the cold bark, and hauled herself up in a smooth, practiced sweep of muscle. Her foot searched for purchase, found none, and she adjusted until she found it. She pushed again, half climbing, half vaulting. Each rung was a small battle; her sneakers scraped, her arms trembled with the lingering burn of the earlier obstacles, and her breath came sharper now. Still, exhilaration hummed under her skin, bright and hot. She climbed in a steady rhythm— grab, hoist, plant, rise —until the topmost log met her with a sudden rush of open air. She hooked an elbow over it, swung her leg, rolled her weight, and let gravity help her descend the far side with controlled, almost gleeful recklessness, skipping rungs where she could just as River had, feet thudding a staccato pattern toward the ground.

Her landing was soft, but her lungs were burning harshly now, each breath like pulling in shards of winter. Still, she didn’t pause. The final obstacle glinted ahead: the wide pool of water, its surface dark and rippling faintly, promising a shock of cold misery should she misjudge even by an inch. Zelia wiped a quick streak of sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist. Then she ran. 

Every stride was a coaxed promise from her muscles, every inhale a negotiation with her own flagging endurance. But as she approached the edge, something in her refused to allow a timid finish. She gathered everything she had left, speed, will, stubborn joy, and launched herself. For one suspended heartbeat she was weightless, sailing farther than she intended, farther than was strictly necessary, as if her body wanted to prove something to the cold morning air.

She hit the ground on the opposite side harder than she planned, sneakers skidding for a breathless moment before she caught herself in a staggered, laughing stumble. The impact rattled up her spine, but the triumphant jolt of adrenaline overshadowed it. She bent forward, hands braced on her knees, chest rising and falling in deep, greedy gulps of air. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her hair clung damply to her temples, and her thighs trembled from the effort, but a grin unfurled itself across her face, slow and wild.

She straightened just enough to shoot River and Rae, from where her new friend was watching, a breathless thumbs-up, her grin still wide, her eyes bright with the kind of exhilaration that made the whole grueling course feel like a victory worth savoring.
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[color=808080][b]interactions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] river [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]mentions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] rae [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]collabs[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] [@Mjolnir][/color]
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