The toad sits on the edge of the boat as Ella paddles.

“Now where to?” she says.

“To where a silly toad like me can talk, of course.”

“You already are talking.”

“So I am,” chuckles the toad.

Ahead, the river bends sharply. Impossible to see what’s around it until around it they go and what’s around it is not good.

Rapids, and the boat’s quickly sucked in. Ella tries to steady it with the oar, but the oar seems more scared than she is and bounces around in her hands. She grips it tight and shoves it against a rock they’re about to slam into. It’s enough and they slide past.

She does it again, narrowly avoiding a second. Then a third time to avoid two more. On the fourth, she isn’t fast enough and they go careening into the air! Ella falls back in the boat and, looking up, sees nothing but clouds. And then water as they splash down.

Ella stands sharply and readies her oar, but they’ve dropped into a nice calm spot. She looks back and is amazed they made it. A thunderous sound of raging water. Except most of the sound is coming from the other direction. She whips her head back to forward.

More rapids. Worse rapids.

“There,” the toad points to a dark spot in a rocky hillside, under the roots of an ancient oak. Doesn’t look like much.

“You sure?” Ella says.

“Of course I’m sure, when have I ever steered you wrong?”

“You’ve never steer—”

“That’s right!” interrupts the toad, satisfied his point has been taken. “Never. Not once.”

She looks back upstream. A painful glance. With it, rushing down with all the water, comes all the memories of everything that’d just occurred.

She paddles towards the cave, to the opening just large enough to receive them. She ducks down as tree roots claw at her hair, jagged and teeth-like.

Next Chapter: 4. The Cave of Who Knows