Hasa was already in the river, his arms moving from front to side as he treaded water. Jemunu-jah was slipping in alongside him. Masurathoo soon joined them.
“Ready?” Hasa eyed the Deyzara dubiously. “Once we start out, we stay together and move fast. Falling behind’s not a good idea.”
From the depths of new assurance Masurathoo stared back at the human out of damp, protruding eyes. “If you are of a mind, sir, I will race you.”
Hasa hesitated, then responded with a tight smirk, “Maybe you will make it out of here without becoming flacc food.” He turned serious. “No racing. No wasted motion. No flailing around, no splashing. Slow, steady kicks only. I was right about the current: there isn’t any.” He turned to Jemunu-jah. “Ready?”
The Sakuntala’s ears were aimed out to the sides, listening intently for any untoward noise or the sound of something large entering the water. “Floating wastes time. Talking wastes time.”
Responding with a terse, somber nod, Hasa turned and struck out across the open water.
This wasn’t so bad, Masurathoo found himself musing when they were halfway across. The rain was not coming down hard enough to obstruct their vision, nothing armed with tooth or fang appeared to challenge their transit, and the enveloping water was warm against his hairless body. Supported by anywhere from three to a dozen thin-skinned floats apiece, platforms of dark blue, pale red, and yellow fungi drifted past like so many electrified flowers. So brilliant were their colors and patterns that they seemed to mimic iridescence electric even in the rain.