After an unfortunate fishing accident upstream, Quirrin had been struggling with the rapids for what felt like years of his life, and had actually been about half an hour. He knew better than to exhaust himself screaming about his plight. He did his best to float and hang onto his leather knapsack containing his few meagre possessions, as he clinged onto an unattractive floating log that was doing its ungrudging best to stop him drowning. He caught sight of a small town appearing as the river whisked him inexorably through the woods.<br/>Ah, I get out of this one alive, he thought triumphantly, and started heaving a sigh of relief when an unwelcome drink of white water warned him not to. He hung onto the mouldy piece of wood as he saw the huts  and cottages of Perry's Ferry in the distance, and grinned insanely as he saw the rope and the ferry greeting him. With what remained of his strength he tried to steer himself and the log towards the lumbering bulky ferry. He stuck out a hand, and somehow managed to cling onto the side of the large raft, getting a smack in the face from the log and another mouthful of water as the river smashed him into it. Barely conscious, he managed to drag himself onto the side of the floating platform, and pased out with a small groan. I'll be fine, he thought as the lights went out, and he lay on the deck in a large puddle.