An arrow made its way for the elven prince, but the weapon was deflected in the air by Tauriel’s own arrow. Moving quickly, Tauriel attacked the orc and forced the monster to its knees, seconds away from decapitating it with her knife.

After what felt a lifetime, the current calmed, and the dwarves were brought to calmer, steadier waters. Thorin used his hands to paddle, and he cast a glance towards Balin. “Anything behind us?”
Balin checked, his beard dripping with water. “Not that I can see.”
Bofur gave a sigh of relief. “I think we’ve outrun the orcs.”
“Not for long; we’ve lost the current.” Thorin inwardly cursed their misfortune. “Make for the shore! Come on, let’s go!”

The shore consisted of mainly rock. The company arrived and exited each barrel, some coughing and others uttering their varying concerns. Each member was soaked clean through to their skin, and the temperature seemed to have dropped considerably.
Kili managed to climb out of his barrel, though he didn't get far. After a few steps, he fell to knees in pain from the wound in his leg. Blood covered the area, and Kili started to wince as he moved himself to sit. Once seated, he caught notice of Bofur looking to him with concern.
Embarrassed, Kili was quick to deny anything was wrong. "I’m fine, it’s nothing," he mumbled hastily, then fixed his pant leg so that the damage might be hidden. Above all, he feared being a burden, and that was what he would become if not careful.

Thorin was relieved to find his nephew still in one piece, though he could not risk fretting over him now. Without weapons, they were an easy target. “On your feet," he commanded the group, his steely gaze on the river. The orcs would come soon, and if they did not, the elves would.