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From a distance the waterfall had been like a silent white stream cascading over the rocky outcrops. As they had drawn closer the noise had increased steadily until they were only a few hundred metres away. They could no longer even shout to one another over the deafening roar of the water. Closer still they drew until they were in the plume of water vapour that hung over the plunge pool and in only minutes they were as wet as they would have been in any rainstorm. Their hair clung to their heads and around their faces, but no matter how wet they became, it could not dampen their spirits. They stood in awe.
Tamsin reached for another hand hold. The rock was slippery with water from the plunge pool mist. One miss placed hand or foot and her lifeless body would be dragged around in the circular current until it rotted away. She dug her fingers into the crevice and pulled, this is where all those mis-spent hours climbing trees would pay off. The noise pressed in her, pounding at her thoughts. This waterfall that had inspired her poetry as a child now scared her senseless. If she was to become a leader she must prove herself as capable as any man and the journey to the mage was what the boys did unless they wanted women's chores and no respect. Well Tamsin hated those tedious jobs and she wanted respect for more than her dark eyes and muscular physique. She was going to be somebody whether they liked it or not.
The the water tumbled down the hillside in a series of mini-waterfalls. The water tinkled in a laughing sort of way and the children imagined that this was the sort of places faeries might live. The rocks were slippery as they crossed the stream but there was an iron rope to hold on to. For their dog it was simply a place for a good drink. As they walked on that music of the woods became ever quieter until they could hear it no more.
It was not the gentle sort of waterfall you might see in a stately home garden, it was the kind where torrents of water are poured over rocks hard enough to crack your skull and mash your brains on the way down, then swirl in a plunge pool below deep enough to drown you if you survived the fall. From the bottom it was awe inspiring, from the top it was brutal and terrifying.
Down the path there is a stream, but not as you know it. By nature all streams are slow-flowing, languid in pace, and lax by nature. However the stream is mighty. Many torrents of water travel its path, rapids flick up against its surface like paint flakes off a distressed door. Boulders rise out of the water like the bows of a sunken fleet, and the hiss of far off waterfalls are the screams of their drowned crew. The scent of moss and lichen be-fowls the air for leagues across. The stream is the reminder to all that witness its majesty the ignorance of presumption, and the existence of exemption. "We thought the pretty stream an easy conquest", you hear the drowned crew call, "we were wrong".
A force of nature, both beautiful and brutal. Tranquil from a distance but deafening up close. It was as if the cascades of water conjured cascades of equally powerful emotions in his brain and it quite took his breath away. It was simply spectacular, the most magnificent sight he had ever beheld.
The water was cold but she was okay with it , not until a current came under her and took her in the river the river was too fast that the water was running. Suddenly she heard something that was too deep , then she saw all the gardens around the waterfall it was amazing, from the color from the patterns it was incredible. Seeing the things from up , suddenly she was In a shock that she will fall in the deep water she was running too fast that the slippery rocks had heated her hands too hard that she got injured.