Crow warily eyed Penelope’s outstretched hand. He was surprised at how well she was taking his confession. He would have thought that she would have jumped at the chance to tease him for being unable to swim, but instead she was being [i]understanding[/i] towards him. Looking up again, he held her gaze for a moment more, searching for signs of trickery in her eyes. Somehow, he found that he believed her. She wouldn’t have anything to gain from letting him drown, and she seemed confident that she could support both of them in the river. He glanced back at the rushing water. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, he hadn’t died the first time he went under, and he had been on his own then.

After a moment of hesitation, Crow swallowed and stepped forward, reluctantly taking Penelope’s hand, “Fine, but make no mistake: I’m not doing this because you told me to. I just want to go back to the inn and go to sleep. I’ve had enough running around for one day.”

He turned back to the river, watching the water flow by. Was it his imagination or was the current moving faster than it had been before? For a moment, he even thought he saw white water reflected in the moonlight. He suddenly realized he was holding onto Penelope’s hand rather tightly, and he forced himself to relax his grip. He really needed to calm down. His anxiety about crossing the river was humiliating.

“Let’s hurry up and go before I change my mind,” Crow muttered.