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Chapter 52 - Episode 52: Runaway Lily-Liner

"Wait a minute," Leonotis said, squinting at the passing shoreline, which was now a dizzying blur of green and brown. "Wasn't that… wasn't that the really pointy rock that looked like a grumpy gnome's hat?!"

Low, who was trying to wring water out of the fur-trimmed cuffs of her tunic, scowled.

"Grumpy gnome's hat? Looked more like a slightly damp pebble to me. But yeah, I think I saw something vaguely pointy go by about five minutes ago. Which means…"

"Which means," Jacqueline finished, her voice tight with concern, "we've missed it. We've missed the turn-off completely. We're going too fast."

She pointed ahead, where the flow of the river was visibly quickening, the surface becoming choppy and white-capped.

"Listen."

The cheerful burble of the river had been replaced by a more urgent, menacing rush, a growing roar that spoke of rapids and a powerful, uncontrollable current.

The Lily-Liner, once a peaceful, serene vessel, now bucked and swayed with increasing, alarming intensity.

"Right, new plan!" Leonotis declared, grabbing a thick, trailing vine that dipped into the water, hoping to use it as a makeshift rudder.

He pulled with all his might, his muscles straining, but the vine was yanked out of his hands with surprising force as the giant lily pad continued its headlong rush downstream, completely unimpressed by his efforts.

"Okay, plan A is officially a bust."

Low tried digging her claws into the slippery surface of the lily pad, hoping to create some friction and slow them down.

All that resulted was a series of long, shallow scratches in the tough, green skin and a spray of leafy pulp.

"This overgrown salad leaf has about as much stopping power as a wet sock!" she grumbled, sliding further towards the edge as the current tugged them relentlessly along.

Jacqueline extended her hands towards the water again, attempting to create a counter-current, but she had used too much magic in the fight, and the river's force was now overwhelming.

The water swirled weakly around her hands, resisting her magic like a vast, unruly beast.

"It's no use," she said, her voice strained with fatigue, slumping against the curled edge of the leaf. "Those fish must have used some kind of magic on the river itself; the current is too strong, too wild. We're at its mercy."

Leonotis tried paddling with his sword, an act that looked more like a desperate attempt to swat particularly aggressive water sprites than any form of effective steering.

The lily pad spun lazily in a full circle, completely ignoring his frantic efforts and making them all momentarily dizzy.

"So," Low said, her voice laced with a note of grim, weary resignation as she gave up her own efforts, "we're just… going with the flow, then? Like a giant, leafy offering to whatever angry river god lives further downstream?"

"Looks that way," Leonotis admitted, sheathing his useless sword.

He grabbed onto the curled edge of the lily pad, his knuckles white.

"Hang on tight, everyone. It feels like this ride's about to get a whole lot bumpier."

The roar of the water ahead grew louder still, promising a journey far beyond their intended destination, into lands unknown and likely unwelcoming.

Their makeshift raft, for all its initial charm, was proving to be nothing more than a large, green, and utterly uncontrollable runaway train on water.

The relentless roar of the rapids gradually subsided, replaced by a gentler, steady gurgle.

The Lily-Liner, still spinning lazily, rounded a wide, sweeping bend in the river, and a new, startling vista unfolded before them.

Nestled on both banks, connected by a series of sturdy-looking rope bridges, was a bustling fishing village, a vibrant, chaotic tapestry of activity against the lush, beautiful backdrop of the Water Mountain's lower slopes.

The village was alive with a cacophony of sounds: the rhythmic thump-thump of hammers on wood as boats were repaired, the boisterous, cheerful calls of vendors hawking their glistening, silver-scaled catches from waterside stalls, the high-pitched laughter of children playing a frantic game of tag near the water's edge, and the insistent, demanding cries of gulls circling overhead.

The air was thick with the scent of fish, both fresh and drying on long racks, mingled with the salty, briny tang of the wide river and the sharp, pleasant aroma of woodsmoke from dozens of small fires.

Colorful fishing boats, their patched sails furled, bobbed gently in the water, clustered like resting water-birds around sturdy wooden docks.

Nets, like giant, intricate spiderwebs, were draped over wooden frames to dry in the afternoon sun, their complex patterns catching the light, shimmering with trapped droplets of water.

Their arrival was anything but graceful.

The Lily-Liner, steered by nothing more than the whim of the now-lazy current, drifted awkwardly into what appeared to be the village's main harbor.

It bumped gently against a row of smaller, brightly painted fishing boats, causing a few to rock precariously and eliciting a string of angry, surprised shouts from their owners.

A group of fishermen mending a large net on a nearby dock stopped their work, their mouths agape, their needles still.

Children pointed, their game forgotten.

The three travelers, looking somewhat disheveled, damp, and utterly out of place, clung to the edges of their oversized, slowly spinning lily pad like shipwreck survivors clinging to a very green, very conspicuous raft.

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