The river of beings swept upstream like a brown tide, carrying my exonerated companion with them.

*   *   *

Twenty minutes and another mile’s hike produced a change in geology, the chamber narrowing, the elevation rising. The river twisted into white water, the rapids forcing the juveniles and mothers bearing young onto the bank. I remained at the back of the procession, Oscar by my side. Every so often a young cephaloped would dart in close, attempting physical contact, only to be intercepted with a stinging slap by one of Oscar’s powerful tentacles, chiding them away.

Up ahead, the ravine curved sharply. As we neared the river’s origin I could hear a roar of water, the thunderous sound devoid of echo, growing louder as the cave moved from night into day. As I rounded the bend, my skin was bathed in a cool mist, my senses once again overwhelmed.

We were standing behind a waterfall—a curtain of crystal liquid as tall as the Eiffel Tower, its bluster deafening. Backlit by the sun, the colors of the spectrum danced rainbows across the arching cavern walls. The flow cascaded into a shimmering azure-blue lake, its concealed northern end spread out before us, its spillway forging the river.

There was no longer a shoreline to follow, no path around the roaring obstacle of water. To continue on, one had to enter the lake and swim through the falls … which was exactly what the cephalopeds were doing—submerging beneath the pounding water and disappearing into the aquamarine ether.

I lost sight of Dharma, who must have already made the pass.

Oscar looked down at me. It was my turn.

We waded in together. The sun-drenched waters felt balmy—a wonderful relief after the icy cold waters in the cavern. Swimming along the surface, I approached the deafening roar as close as I dared, my heart racing in fear.

It is not child’s play to swim beneath the impact zone of a waterfall, Niagara Falls, as it was before I was frozen, dropped seventeen stories—the wall of water before me fell many times that height. And yes, while the flow from above appeared to pack far less volume than the Niagara River, I was still swimming into an unknown torrent—albeit a beautiful one.

I grabbed a lungful of humidity and ducked underwater. My brain was immediately overwhelmed by the chaos of white noise. Descending as deep as I could, I swam toward the crystal wall of foam—realizing, too late, that I was entering the freshwater equivalent of the three hundred foot tidal wave that had nearly drowned me days ago.

Liquid thunder bludgeoned my back and spine, forcing the air from my chest with the power of a battering ram. My immediate reaction was to turn back, only the falls held me fast, churning me into frightening somersaults that pried open my lips even as my mind screamed, Vanilla sway!