The horses angled their way into the current, labouring against the river’s weight. By the time they reached mid-stream, Deborah had lifted her feet to keep them out of the water, which came mid-way up the horses’ chests. She shivered as she noticed Éha’s bare feet dangling in the icy water.
Several times the horses stumbled, and twice they had to lunge, throwing their weight to catch their balance. But soon the water became shallower and easier to manage. Within minutes they were on the other side.
Pran led them across the rocky shore to a place just inside the dense forest, and tied their horses there.
‘From here we will make better time on foot,’ he told them. ‘Once in the woods, we will strike a path which leads to the top, but we must pass first through dense undergrowth and up a steep slope to get to it. The horses will only encumber us.’
Deborah was soon breathing hard, thighs aching from exertion, as they climbed the steep bank, forcing their way through tangled bracken, the rocky, uneven ground covered with wet leaves and other bits of forest detritus making their footing frustratingly slippery. But she had to smile when Éha muttered something about doing things the hard way when she could simply transform.