George regarded the frozen waterfall with wonder and admiration.  "That's impressive," he said.  It would, he thought, make for a pretty picture.  If they got an artist out here to sketch it, it would doubtless be displayed in the Great Library at Lockhaven.  Still, his awe was tempered by the realization that it was currently blocking the path, and they would be forced to either ascend to the top of the canyon or brave the frozen river below in order to proceed.<br/><br/>"Hrm," he said, setting down his packs.  "It's frozen solid."  He prodded the ice with the tip of his sword.  "I don't think we can cut through it."  He looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun as he inspected its zenith.  "I wonder what we might find up there," he said, earnestly, his curiosity piqued.  "One of us should be able to climb it, I think. "  He opened his pack, and started rifling through it.  "I brought some rope.  Maybe I can rig up a harness..."<br/><br/>"Yes?" said Lucien, the patrol leader.  "Very well.  See if you can climb the ice, if you can see a better way around."<br/><br/>"Me?" blinked George.  "I, errr... that is, I meant..."  What he wanted to say was this: he probably wasn't the best candidate to go pathfinding.  Every now and again he still managed to get lost exploring the burrows and warrens in Lockhaven, and he had lived in the city all his life.   But then he became distinctly aware of Noreen watching him.  Suddenly, it became very important that he should rise to the challenge.<br/><br/>He somberly regarded the obstacle before him.  The icy stream was a vertical wall, melting in places.  While, being a mouse, he was naturally good at climbing things, as all mice were, it wasn't an easy task by any means.  The rest of the party crowded around to offer advice and suggestions--Cyd, he noticed, a bit surlily, although he did not take offense.  George would have gladly have let Cyd show off in his stead if Lucien hadn't commanded otherwise.  Noreen was offering advice about the weather, pointing out which bits were likely to be slippery and wet and which were more solid; and even Lucretzia piped up with her opinions.  George listened, taking them all into consideration.<br/><br/>But he could no longer delay the inevitable.  Wrapping a thick length of rope around his waist, he scrambled up the most accessible part of the floe, climbing from one ridge to another.  Once or twice, his paws slipped, and he narrowly managed to avoid plummeting to his death by sheer desperation.  Still, he was determined not to fail, and, eventually, huffing and wheezing from the exertion, he hauled himself over the edge of the cliff.  He allowed himself a few seconds to catch his breath, and then found a sturdy-looking root.  He knotted the rope several times around the thickest part and then tossed the rest of it over the side to aid the rest of his party.