Sheer human instinct to do something stupid for the hell of it wasn't the only reason the shrine had been built atop a screaming gorge. The monks that had lived there, long before the Third Great Ninja War had swept through the villages and wiped out half the world, had practiced a traditional brand of Shinto. Prayers, fasting, charity--

Meditation beneath a waterfall.

Which made for a damn good reason to try that cliff-jumping idea again. Asuma kicked off the first rock to meet his feet, demanding strength from leaden muscles, and dragged them back to the surface. Natsumi's arm tightened around his throat as she gasped a desperate, choking breath; he wrenched his head back and did the same. Low-level mist and high-flying spray dampened the air, spilling yet more cold into burning lungs.

Which really wasn't the issue, because that distant, thundering roar wasn't just for ambiance.

"Hang on!" He didn't have a plan--he barely had an idea--but he did have an urgent, very definite desire to not die, and that did incredible things for the willpower. Even if he was leaving bloody trails curling through froth and foam.

Chakra sliced through thinning pathways when he called it. Hands worked, legs kicked; Natsumi tightened her grip, wrapped her legs around his hips, and yelled something incomprehensible in his ear. Asuma grabbed everything he had left, and leapt.

The cliff-face rushed forward to meet them with a slap that crushed the air from Natsumi's lungs, and rasped his gloves right down to skin. He snatched a hold, clinging with chakra, and scrabbled for another one. Booted feet skidded over slick, lichen-covered rock, finding nothing. Natsumi's weight dragged at his shoulder, driving daggers of hot ice through muscles stretched to the limit. She was gasping, coughing, curling involuntarily around the fight to fill empty lungs, pressing the sword-blade into his collarbones. He didn't even know if she was injured--

Two fingers of his left hand found a crag; he hooked into it desperately, flooding chakra down to his feet, and tried to pull up. Rock crumbled away beneath his touch. Both arms trembled; his shoulders felt like someone was doing something creative with a blowtorch. There were no footholds.

And no chance. His grip gave out, ripping a hollow noise through white lips, and they plummeted back into the river. Water closed high above their heads, dark as ink. Asuma forced himself to kick back up. They broke the surface just in time to see the edge of the world, rushing up hard and fast, and there was nothing left to do but wrap Natsumi up in the best hold he could manage, and waste his breath on the one prayer that really mattered. The soldier's prayer.

Please, God, don't let us die.