You stand at the edge of a dense forest, atop a rolling glistening hillside high above a sprawling valley.

At the bottom of the valley winds a raging river. The air smells thick of the recent storms that rained across here not more than an hour ago.

You know that river is now unpassable. But you also know crossing it, you must. You survey the length of it hoping for a hint of the safest part.

Suddenly a blast of horns scream out from far behind you. The Enemy. They will catch up to you soon. And they will see you from here, as you try to cross the river down below.

There is no doubt.

What do you do?

There is no choice. You sprint down the hill.

Treacherous footing, you slip and you slide. Patches of mud and small pools of water left behind from the thunderstorms splash underfoot.

Within minutes, you are standing at the river bank. Roaring rapids rushing before you. This is hopeless. You look behind you to the top of the hill. The first scouts of the enemy are arriving, pausing like you did. Assessing the river.

And then you see it. You didn't see it before. The tree trunk stuck in the mud on the bank in front of you. Big enough for three people you think, but thankfully only need room for you. You climb on, and shove off. Gripping it with every ounce of strength that you have.

....and then the current takes you.