Jethru's voice echoed from just beyond the mouth of the cave, edged with disappointment. "The river's swollen. It is deep and wide. No way we're crossing by wading."
Logan shoved past the final bend and stepped into the open. The others followed, blinking as sunlight cut through the trees. Cool air rushed to meet them—crisp, sharp, and clean, like a mother's touch after a long fever.
The river stretched before them, broad, fast, and unforgiving. Its banks overflowed, the usual muddy edges now erased by the swollen current. The roar of the water filled the ravine like distant thunder. Hopes for a shallow crossing died the moment they saw it.
It must have rained heavily in the mountains of Ourea.
Chunks of wood, foam, and shattered remnants of an old rope bridge churned in the current. A thick tree limb bobbed near the far side, tangled with frayed rope—what remained of their crossing.
Logan cursed under his breath. "Someone cut the rope bridge."
