Gisele, or how she called herself, moved toward the river, dipping deep into it, and simmered in while looking at Kale with only here eyes above water level.
The water took her like a cold mouth.
It didn't matter that the day was mild or that the sun, whatever passed for sun on these floors, had been warming the rocks. The river came straight from the mountain's ribs, fed by meltwater and shadow, and it bit deep the moment it swallowed her shoulders. Her skin prickled, then went numb in patches, and she forced herself deeper anyway, letting the current slide over bruises and cuts like a rough cloth.
