Bronze screamed when the last support tore free.
Rill drove his free hook through Bracken's blue line before it vanished into the slot. The pull took him off his feet. His chest struck the shelf, and the hook skipped toward the edge with sparks jumping from its point.
Slate caught the chain through his saddle ring.
Slate's wounded flank folded. One wing slapped the cataract while the other found air, and for an ugly moment rider and wyvern slid together toward the white drop. Rill hooked an elbow through the shelf chain and held on.
Below his hands, Harrow sank to the shoulders.
The torn rear strap around his forearm had caught beneath a curved piece of old homebell. Bracken's line ran over that bronze arc before dropping into black water. Harrow's body pulled one side down. Whatever held Bracken pulled the other.
Rill reached for him again.
Harrow struck the hook with his fist.
"I said the blue line."
"I have the line."
"Then feel what happens when you lift me."
