CROSSING THE RIVER

Victor led Corrie and Rafael across the valley to the river. Corrie insisted they search the bodark den for signs of Galen, but it was half flooded and no one was inside.

The river ran brown and full, at the very brink of the banks. Another night and day of rain would have sent it over, into the meadows. At the edges, foam mixed with broken limbs and other bits of trash. It would be a week or two before they could cross, Corrie thought. She certainly didn’t want to float across a flood-stage river again.

Corrie was kept busy making sure Rafael didn’t stumble and making sure he was following Victor. She wondered why Victor was so confident in where he led them, but thinking back it seemed Victor was always confident—perhaps overconfident—about this trek.

At last, they rounded a curve and saw something shining white and pale. She stopped beside Victor, who gazed at it carefully.

“What is it?” Corrie asked.

“An uprooted sycamore,” Victor said. “Look.” His voice crept upward in pitch as his excitement grew. “Look. The trunk goes across the river. We’ll have to go there, you know, to find the eagles.”

“Are we going to cross that?” Corrie said in dismay. It would be hard enough crossing herself, but with Rafael, how could they do it?

“Yes,” Victor said decisively. He stopped and spat. “Everything tastes like mud tonight,” he apologized. He climbed the roots and stood on the broad trunk, then turned back. “Send Rafael up.”

Corrie explained to Rafael what the sycamore bridge looked like, then asked if he was ready to climb.

“You don’t have to worry,” Rafael told her in almost a whisper. This morning, his voice was back to the odd wavering volume. “I’ll make it,” he finished in a yell.

Corrie watched anxiously as he climbed the roots and stood next to Victor. She scrambled upward, too, and soon stood beside them. In single file, tightly aligned for Rafael’s sake, Victor inched outward. Beneath them, Corrie saw a leaf spinning in a tiny whirlpool. It escaped and sped downstream. The water was racing along.

Branches blocked their way. The first two were simple to ease around, but at the third, Victor stopped and studied it. It was a thicker branch, which left little trunk on either side. Corrie studied it, too, over Rafael’s back. Alone, she would’ve scrambled up the branch a couple feet, scooted around to the other side and climbed down.

Victor tilted his head in an unspoken question; she shrugged in answer. She didn’t know if Rafael could make it, but they had to try. Victor climbed up, around, and down, almost in one fluid movement. Corrie explained to Rafael that he had to climb again and he reassured her he could do it. And climb, he did. Up and up.

Corrie called. “Stop! Don’t go any farther, or the branch will break!”

The branch swayed out, over the murmuring water, then back over the trunk and out over the water on the other side.

“Rafael, come down. Slowly,” Corrie called.

Rafael’s blind face turned toward her. “I’m OK.”

He maneuvered around until Victor yelled that he was squared up with the trunk, and then he started down. While the branch swayed, Corrie held her breath. Each of Rafael’s claws clung to the branch; to move downward, he loosed his hold, slipped a bit, then tightened his grip to slow down. It allowed him to descend without having to look below.

At last, his hind legs landed on the trunk, and he was down.

It was Corrie’s turn. She quickly climbed over, and they were able to move forward. Another large branch was crossed the same way and by the time Rafael climbed over the third, he was doing it easily. Finally, they emerged on the other side of the water.

“Look,” Victor said with satisfaction. “There’s a gully to follow and it leads up, toward the eagle’s nest.”

And Corrie wished with all her heart that Galen and El Garro could share this moment.

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