[Orual]

Anson shrugged his blanket off and sat up. He was in a sour mood from the previous night, but time and tide wait for no hobbit, and the Glanduin wasn't getting any closer with the company just sitting there. He went to arouse everyone.

He hesitated when he got to Peony. The girl looked peaceful, and she was so tired. He sighed and shook her gently. "Time to get up, Peony."

She bore up bravely and stood up, stretching. Anson smiled fondly and went to gather up his things and repack. It would be a long journey.

The trip to the Glanduin took nearly ten days, but they made good time and did not stop when it was not necessary. The wolves faded from their minds, and they regained their strength and spirit. They spoke cheerfully of their homes, and of their families, and they told the sort of amusing stories that can only come from families. It eased some of Anson's pain to talk about his children. Though he still missed them, it brought them closer to speak of them.

It was midway into their ninth day of travel when Andunériel, heading up the group, stopped short. Everyone stopped behind her and strained their ears; she was listening for something. "It's up ahead," she announced. Nobody had to ask what "it" was. They had arrived at the Glanduin crossing.

Anson looked around at fallen limbs; a storm had passed. Good, and bad. They would have wood to build a raft, but the river would be high and fast. He shivered a little bit, though the day was warm. He hated to think of the river, and crossing it. He looked over at Peony, whose face was set. He couldn't imagine that she was any happier about it than he was, but he had to put a brave face on the whole matter. After all, he was doing his best to lead the group. Showing that he was afraid of this step wasn't going to bode well for their actual stay in Fangorn. Surely the river was no worse than the forest.

When the river was in sight--foaming and frothing and churning sickeningly, to Anson's eyes--they divided up to get limbs to build the raft. Marsilion, Tinüsel, and Elenlith formed the limbs into a raft while the others roped it tight. It was a dubious-looking contraption at best, and Anson eyed it with some distrust. Somebody's got to get on it first, Anson Hornblower, and you're the one who got the fool idea to travel all over the world, he thought. He took a deep breath, and faced his companions.

"I'll try it out," he said. There were the beginnings of protests, but he held up a hand to quiet them. "I'm going to do it, and there's no talking me out of it." He tied a rope to one end of the raft. "Keep hold of this--this isn't for me to cross, just to make sure the thing's seaworthy."

With everyone gripping the rope and watching Anson uneasily, the hobbit clambered aboard the raft and shoved off.

The waves rocked the raft, and Anson clung for dear life to the grooves in the wood. As he grew more and more nauseated he wondered why he'd ever volunteered, but it was too late to go back now.

White water rose around him, and he shut his eyes to it. He was nearly a quarter of the way across the river now, and he hollered for those ashore to pull him back in. They complied, but the waves were getting stronger. They picked up the raft and set back down heavily. Anson clutched the makeshift hand-holds, but to no avail. With a cry, he felt himself flung into the water.