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The SkyClanner - Duskpool, he says his name is - tells them to stick close, the both of them, and though Luckypaw has no intention of pressing up against any of the other Clans, he simply nods along in response. Even if he'd wanted to say something, to agree or to somehow argue against alike, any words he might have had left him at the daunting site before them. As Duskpool shuffles forwards, paws sinking down as the Twoleg bridge sinks and bobs beneath his weight, there's one last chance to stall, even to turn back; courage flagging, his paws turn to lead as he remains stopped there, wide eyes fixed on the way their makeshift path wobbles and jerks in the waves. If he were to turn now, to run far away, what were the chances he'd make it back on his own? Could he even retrace their steps if he wanted to? Maybe he'd be able to follow the fading scents - Cygnetstare was teaching him quite well about tracking - but what then? There's no way he could just return empty-pawed and alone, not after Badgermoon. Before his thoughts can spiral any further, a familiar voice on the wind catches his ears, and when he drags his gaze up and over, an even more familiar face awaits him on the other side. Scorchpaw's already made it - that's good, one less thing to worry about - and it takes a moment for her words to process. You can do it. Was she...talking to him? Surely she was - who else would that encouragement be directed to?
The world seems to come back to him, snapping back into place, and suddenly he's aware of Duskpool glancing back, of Milkpaw waiting behind him - waiting for him to go. Taking a deep breath to try and steel himself, Scorchpaw's rallying call and serious countenance in the back of his mind, Luckypaw steps forward, placing one paw onto the bridge, and then, after a moment of hesitation, the next. It feels - exactly how he'd thought it would, and also nothing like it at the same time; it's as if the very ground beneath him has been pulled away, every step fighting against the ripple underpaw. His nose wrinkles slightly in distaste, though the rest of his features retain a deadly focus, every fiber in him pooling together in order to keep his balance and to keep his paws from slipping right out from under him. Carefully, he inches forward, keeping enough space between himself and the other two that he doesn't feel overwhelmed or worried about a sudden movement throwing him off, and it's only just before disaster strikes that he realizes, hey, I'm doing this! He feels it before he hears it, the shift behind him suddenly going all wrong, the bridge behind him bobbing up when it hasn't before, and as he takes his time, making sure he's stable before throwing a glance over his shoulder, it's already far too late - Milkpaw's already let out a warning yowl, white paws scrabbling for purchase and met with nothing but water.
In a panic, he immediately crouches low, not trusting himself to fully stand without wobbling to his own demise, and helplessly he stares in horror where his fellow apprentice had gone down, bubbles rising up from where his head had dunked below the water. When the ThunderClanner had fallen in, it had been one thing - he'd been so far away, even if there was anything to be done he'd had no hope of reaching her in time. This, though? This is happening right here, right now, in front of his very nose, no less, and still he finds himself powerless to do anything to help. His first instinct is to reach out a paw, try to fish him out, but that idea quickly falls to the wayside; Luckypaw's smaller than Milkpaw is, and the other apprentice would probably drag him in before anything else, and besides, he'd probably just topple anyways without all four paws planted. Next instinct is to turn to Duskpool, as though the older tom would have any better ideas about what to do. It quickly becomes clear that neither of them are going to be doing any saving today, and with his legs still folded beneath him, he cries out, "M-Milkpaw! Milkpaw fell in!" as though nobody else had seen it happen. What else was there to do? Now more than ever, he wishes he hadn't volunteered - that there wasn't any sickness in the first place, that nobody had to leave, that Badgermoon was still there-
Jolted from his panic, Luckypaw realizes then and there that he can't just sit there and hope a RiverClanner comes along to save yet another clumsy cat; he has to keep going, to get out of the way, and to ensure that he, too, doesn't slip in, expending all his strength and his nerve grasping at slippery planks that barely provide any surface to balance on. It's not until Duskpool begins to move on that he regains his senses, and as he crawls forward, he finds himself sticking closer to the SkyClanner than he had thought he would; maybe it's his desire to get off as soon as possible, or his hope that if he, too, slips, the other cat will be able to catch him in some way, or maybe it's because of the sudden rush in his heart and his lungs, the fear driving him to seek whatever companionship he could find. No matter the reason, he quickly learns the pattern of Duskpool's footfalls, the way the soggy planks dip and sway, and with his gaze so firmly planted on the ground, he doesn't even notice they've made it until his paws are brushing against the dirt - the sweet, sweet dirt. Stumbling forwards onto solid ground, he turns to check on Milkpaw, who by now has been fished back up, head out of the water, and after he croaks out a "thank you", Luckypaw slithers away into the crowd, seeking out Scorchpaw's side. Gently brushing up against her, he doesn't say anything, paws still feeling wobbly as he rests his head against her shoulder; then, the moment is broken as he casts his gaze out to the other shore, searching for Scorchstreak's familiar shape soon-to-be crossing.
