Samkim shoved hard with his paddle, feeling the shock run through his paws as it struck stone. He pushed and felt the boat skip out away from the rock.

“Wood stickin’ up midstream, paddles to starboard!”

Spriggat and Arula paddled furiously, sighing in relief as they whizzed by a tree trunk that had stuck in the muddy bottom.

Alfoh brought his mouth close to Samkim’s ear. “No signs yet, but don’t worry, we’ll catch the blaggards. Here come the rapids now. Stow yer paddle an’ hang on tight!”

Samkim threw his paddle in the logboat bottom, gripping the sides tightly as he heard Alfoh yell out, “Rapids ahead! Stow all paddles an’ hang on!”

White water boiled up over the prow, drenching Samkim as the boat dipped and hurtled crazily into a mad world of foaming, writhing waters. At the stern two experienced shrews sculled with their paddles, slewing the craft around jagged rocky outcrops. Arula threw herself into the bottom of the boat, digging claws hiding her eyes in fright.

“Oohurr, oi’m bound t’er be a drownded mole choild afore sunset!” Like a roller coaster the logboat tore through the rapids, sometimes with water gushing over the sides, other times with the hull groaning as it scraped over submerged rock ledges. Sterns up, heads down, the three vessels weaved and twisted with terrifying speed down the perilous watercourse. Samkim was amazed the shrews seemed to take it all in their stride, neither laughing nor looking fearful they battled away with expertise, competence written all over their faces. Finally, after one long watercourse that seemed more like a waterfall than a rapid, they splashed down into a semicircular lagoon with a thick covering of foamy scum lying slowly swirling on its surface. Behind them the rapids crashed and roared in watery chaos. Dipping their paddles, they began pushing on down the wide calm stream. Traveling easily, they felt possessed of an overwhelming tranquillity after the turmoil of the rapids. The sky was still lowering and overcast, wind soughed softly through the sedge at the banks and margins as the three logboats forged ahead.

It was midday when the stream ahead split two ways and Alfoh held up a paw and called out, “Bows into yon middle bank!”

They headed into the tongue of land that protruded at the parting of the stream. Leaping ashore, Alfoh pointed to a high giant hornbeam.

“Mollo, shin up that there hornbeam tree an’ scout the lay o’ the waters.”

A sprightly young shrew bounded forward, but Samkim beat him to it. “Shrews to water but squirrels to trees, my friend!” Like a shaft from a bowstring the young squirrel shot up the towering trunk. Alfoh watched him in amazement. Arula nudged the old shrew.

“Burr, owzat furr cloimen, zurr. ’Ee be a gud’n, our Sanken.”