He pulled the daughter back by the hair.
The release came with the sounds of a body reconnecting with air — not gradual, not graceful.
"—HAAH—"
Both hands at her own throat.
"—HAAH—HAA—"
The gasp of someone verifying the throat is still there, still working, pressing the evidence of her own windpipe with her fingertips to confirm it.
He picked her up with both hands, out of the water completely, and threw her.
Not far.
A directed throw — destination specific, trajectory deliberate — and she went airborne for the brief, wet, turning moment before she hit the ledge.
She hit her mother.
Front to front, full contact, the daughter's wet body landing across her mother's body with the impact of weight meeting warmth — her perky chest mashing softly against her mother's heavy, milk-swollen breasts, the wet slap of two bodies colliding echoing in the chamber stone.
"—AAAHN~!!!—" The mother, receiving the weight and the heat simultaneously.
