The river stretched before me, wide, silver, and furious, water tumbling over rocks, pulling at everything in its path, I stripped off boots and socks, testing the first shallow edge with my toes, cold biting, muscles tensing, one wrong step and the current would sweep me away, I gripped my stick, probing the depth, balancing every movement, fog curling over the bank, hiding the far side in a shifting gray, I stepped in, water rushing past my ankles, then knees, slipping over slick stones, heart hammering, breath tight, every step deliberate, the current tugging, threatening to topple me, I lunged for a solid boulder, sliding, scraping my palms, a fish darted past, silver flash against dark water, I froze for a heartbeat, then pressed on, forcing each step to follow the rhythm of the river, backpack pulling me backward, canteen swinging, knife clutched in my hand, the river roaring in my ears, muscles screaming, lungs straining, and then a deeper section, water reaching my waist, ice biting through clothes, I held onto a submerged branch, shifting weight, one false move could drag me under, I swung my free arm to the next stone, barely finding purchase, teeth chattering, heart racing, adrenaline surging, finally I reached a shallow sandbank on the far side, knees buckling, water rushing past, breath coming in ragged gasps, victorious, alive, soaked and trembling, I collapsed on the sand, hands plunging into the current again, checking for small fish hiding near stones, I tried to catch one by hand, fingers closing around slippery scales, it wriggled free, then I grasped a second, hauling it onto sand, gutting and cleaning it with a sharp rock, careful not to waste a single ounce, I scouted the bank for sticks and driftwood, imagining a fire to dry meat, a small safe spot for the night, the current rushing past, mist rising from water, wolves howling distant, a reminder of the wild watching, I built a crude pile of sticks for a fire and another small lean-to near the bank, moss lining the base, rocks anchoring the edges, it wouldn't keep me warm in a storm, but it gave me a line of defense, I crouched low, roasting fish on small coals, feeling heat on my face, watching every ripple in the river, every shadow in the fog, muscles still trembling from the crossing, heart still hammering from the current, but I felt capable, alive, in control of at least this small piece of wilderness, I drank deeply from the river again, savoring cold that burned but refreshed, thinking about the next ridge, the next climb, the next survival test, knowing that tomorrow would demand more, but tonight I had water, I had food, I had fire, I had survived the river, and that was enough for now.
