The 'rapids' of Coldwater Creek didn't look like much to Serge Otker, who lived near the churning white waters of the mighty River Luath where it tumbled through Otker Canyon. To his mind, it hardly warranted being called rapids at all.
The creek was narrow here, only two or three dozen paces across, and it was only as deep as a man's waist. If not for the boulders that filled the long stretch of the creek and pockets of surprising depth beneath the churning waters, even a man like him could ford the creek here.
Not that Serge had any intention of getting off his horse or going anywhere near the frigid water when he didn't have to. But, to his eyes, it just wasn't that impressive, and the idea that it would offer the elk some kind of advantage in the hunt, one that the stupid beast would be clever enough to exploit, was just ludicrous.
Erling, however, saw things differently.
