The Waif shot out from under the unsteady mist-walker, almost dunking her into the frenzy below. 

    

Every crewmen and passenger were strapped down and hanging on to anything nailed down as the Waif was tossed side to side. Siro was sprawled on the deck out next to Emery, one arm hooked around the bottom of the guard rail, attempting to use her legs for leverage.  

Grabbing the hook of Siro's safety line, the scout secures them to the rail before stumbling to the call box.

  

“Look alive, Captain!” Emery shouts into the microphone, not waiting for the scrambled, hoarse reply ‘For what!’ before she lobs her staff at the main deck.    

    

It struck with a thunderous crack yet left no mark. The shock reverberates throughout the hull, humming with the ethergic energy of the fog around them. 

Holding her arms out again, Emery directed her will back into the water, the ship her new conductor. Not to control this time but to let it do what it wanted.    

    

Slowed by the giant, writhing bodies of the Cephelokoi, the river's will dammed. She lent her power. To let it feed its rage at being dammed, to let it flood, to push away the block. To let it roil and rise from its bed unburdened.    

    

The river gurgled with pride and rage and accepted the trade, pushing away thick scraping root tentacles from the ferry like before. The river bed sank beneath the waters as the river rose above its boundaries and swelled against the herd.    

    

The water rose higher and higher to allow the herd to move, and move they did. Instead of a mass of writhing tree roots, their long roots propelled them downriver as fast as they could carry them. 

The Shallow waif ripped through the water, sped along by the magically boosted current. The Captain dove for the wheel as they swerved past boulders and bends with naught but fog lights and a mist-walkers less-than-stable connection to an unrelenting river to guide them.

The damage done to his ship would be a bitch to repair; the strain on his crew and his patience would be a shot in morale. Years bringing young novices in and out of the forest, he'd think he’d learn his lesson by now: trouble trailed after Scouts like the fog.  But it was never more exciting when one was on board.