The Cliffs | Garan & Tomas
It was one of those days that fate deemed worthy of all the small miracles that Durmstrang seldom received: a cloudless sky, a gentle sun, and a slight breeze that had all the boys clamoring to go outside with a quaffle, or as of more recently, a football. Tomas, having no clue what to do with either, made for the cliffs hoping there wouldn't be too many boisterous students eager to throw a lanky kid and his books into the waters below.
There was only one other person already there by the time he arrived and Tomas ignored him for a moment to set his things down on a patch of grass some twenty feet away. The sight of the sun reflecting off of a naked chest drew his eye away from his work and he couldn't help but stare; another reason warm days at an all-boys school were a small miracle, if Tomas was being honest. After a few indulgent seconds he turned back to his books, only to be distracted once again by a sharp movement in his periphery. The stranger looked as if to stumble, his arms flailing slightly, and he toppled off the cliff into the water below.
Tomas's stomach dropped and he threw aside his book as he half-scrambled half-sprinted to the edge of the cliffs, nearly sliding off himself, and peered over. He didn't see anyone resurface and his breathing quickened, a stricken expression pulling at his features. Oh, God, what if that boy couldn't swim? What if Tomas had just watched someone drown? He nearly considered jumping in after him until he remembered he couldn't swim himself. He pulled out his wand in desperation, his mouth parting as if to chant spells he'd never learned, before dropping it on the ground and tangling his hands in his hair.
"Shit. Shit. Do prdele," he hissed, eyes watering in grief and helplessness. "What do I do?"