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The river’s close. I can hear it breaking over stones.

I lift my nose to check the bank ahead. Damp leaves and my own blood are all I get. I can hear the men crashing through the undergrowth behind me, and the wind brings me nothing of them.

I’ve run myself stupid. I use my ears and keep moving.

The river shows through the trees, pale where it folds over a shallow ridge. Below that, the current runs deep between the banks.

I head for the deeper water.

They’ll find where I go in. They’ll have to search for where I get out, and the current can carry me well past the first places they check.

I’ve lost followers in water before. This time I need more distance.

I step off the bank and swim.

Cold closes over my back, and the current swings my hindquarters downstream. I turn with it, keeping my nose above the surface. My left leg pulls badly, but the other three work.

Three’s plenty.

The first bend takes the men out of sight.

I stay in the current, paddling clear of a branch trailing from the bank. The water is faster toward the middle. I let it carry me there, saving my strength for keeping my head up.

Trees pass along both banks. I look for a low place on the far side and let the first one pass.

Farther.

The river bends again, pushing me close to a shelf of stone. I kick away, but the shaft strikes the edge.

The wood snaps, and my shoulder goes white.

I go under, then kick hard enough to get my nose clear. Water runs out of my mouth while I struggle away from the shelf. The stub catches against my leg on every stroke, and the rest is still buried. Great.

I keep my sending damped and swim toward the middle again.

The wound pulls less with the long shaft gone. After a while the bleeding slows, too, and I can draw the leg farther forward. I use it for a few strokes and let the wolf get on with the wound.

The bank where I went in is several bends behind me now. Even the treetops are unfamiliar.

I try to shake water from my ears and lose the stroke. My muzzle dips, and I come up coughing. The cold’s reached deep into my legs.

Time to get out.

An uprooted tree lies along the far bank, its roots caught above the water. I work toward the gravel below it, swimming across the current until my good paw scrapes bottom.

The stones shift when I try to stand. I get both back feet underneath me and push, dragging my chest through the shallows.

My injured leg gives on the bank, but I pull it after me.

Come on, leg.

Under the fallen tree, the earth is dry enough to crumble. I get my belly onto it and stretch my nose toward the roots.

I’ll rest until the shaking stops. Then I’ll go upstream and find somewhere to cross.

I tuck the injured leg close, holding the bond quiet while I listen for boots.

Sunlight is on my face when I open my eyes.