The day of the competition was warm and sunny. There was a slight breeze which bushed the clouds across the sky and cooled Belegorn’s face and bare chest as he crouched on the banks of the River Siranim. The ripples shone in the noonday sun and Belegorn’s heart beat fast. The sun warmed his back as he waited for the other contestants to be shown to their places.

Then the whistle blew and Belegorn leaped into the water, two dozen other splashes filling the air with little droplets. Belegorn stretched his arms as far as they could go and pushed against the water, swimming across the heavy current, his legs kicking and straining. Somehow, though, the current did not seem quite as strong as this part of the river usually was. He ducked his head below the water briefly to see a line of rocks nearly to the surface that kept most of the water from spilling over. He was at the far end of the line of swimmers, the only contestant on the south side of the line of rocks, furthest from the mountains from which the river flowed. But his arms kept pushing and his legs kept kicking, and he kept swimming hard and fast across the wide river. He couldn’t see the other contestants; the water was splashing to high and thick.

The river was deep now, the current quicker than it was before. Belegorn bared his hands into cups to push more water and his legs kicked wider. His brown hair was flying in his eyes and blocking his view, but he knew he was going the right direction because the current was flowing straight across his back. He had to manage the rest of the race without sight; there was no way he was going to stop or slow down to move his hair out of his eyes. Such problems were trivial compared to the possibility of not getting the reward.

Finally the tip of his toe touched sand and rock at the bottom of the river. His kicks became smaller, but his arms did not stop. The bank should be coming up any second…and there! His fingers grasped dirt. Clutching handfuls of grass, he pulled himself onto the shore and collapsed. His arms and legs burned with triumph, as well as exhaustion.

His hair was plastered to his forehead, but now he moved it away. The other contestants were just beginning to pull themselves onto dry land.

Morfindel stood on the opposite shore, arm entwined with Adurant’s. He was smiling and giving Belegorn a thumbs up with his free arm, but Morfindel’s face was unreadable, her long wavy black hair floating in her face in the wind.

Hadhod had gone across the bridge to the other side. “Well done, Belegorn!” he said, clapping him on the back. “You were the first across.”

“Thank you, Adani,” Belegorn said, swelling his chest, his arrogant smile in place.

“But the contest isn’t over yet,” Hadhod said. “I’m sure you’ll hold through.”

“Is there any doubt?”

Hadhod laughed. “No doubt, my boy,” he said. “No doubt at all.”