Dravon panicked when the boy had suddenly plunged both of them downhill and into the raging sea. When, after what looked like several minutes, his body touched the water with a deafening thud, he had slipped into unconsciousness.
He saw the sea. Not the one he is plunged into. The sea where Athea Lyselle had stood beside him as he sparingly splashed water on his sword, while blood dripped down, colouring the water crimson red.
He could smell her now – lavender. Her hair was flowing all over her face, while he fought the urgent urge to touch it and pull the strands behind her ears. He watched from the corner of his eyes as she made little effort at controlling the strands that looked like they were in a dancing competition with the raging wind.
Even then Dravon knew he should go home, and now he realised there was no way he'd have been apart from her earlier than when he did. If the Wraithlings had not attacked, he would have let his eyes linger on her small face.
