You can read part 8 here: https://www.melindacoppola.com/a-2022-story-part-8
The skies grew dark earlier and Moon stayed longer. Sun still warmed the skies, but the air was crisp and cool. Trees on the banks of Big River dropped bright, wide leaves or dry brown needles into the swirling waters, and still Little Stream and Wee Lily Pond tumbled along.
Their pace had quickened, that much was certain. Both Little Steam and Lily Pond sensed more strength and depth in the flow that carried them. Little heard new songs in the air—a kind of musical roaring that made her edges quiver.
“Lily Pond,” Little ventured one cloudy morning,”Big River seems….angry. Do you think so, too?”
Lily considered this. “No,” she gurgled slowly. “I think Big River sounds happy. It’s like he feels proud to be strong and fast and he wants the rocks and trees and wind and the birds to know he’s coming.”
“ I wish…I wish I could be more like you,” Little murmured. When I’m scared, you’re excited. I worry that I’m never going to have quiet and peace again, but you see everything as a new adventure.”
Wee Lily Pond pushed herself softly into Little Stream’s side. “ Hey, it’s alright. We can’t go back, and we can’t seem to get out of Big River either. So, we may as well enjoy the ride and see what Big River has in store for us.”
“ I…I…can’t…hear you,” Little squeaked.” Big River is getting SO LOUD!”
Indeed, the Big River roiled and churned as never before. Mountains of dark water formed quickly and grew whitecaps, then tumbled away into rushing wet valleys. Little Stream felt herself rolling and pitching forward.
Suddenly everything went black. Little Stream was swallowed up by the roaring darkness.
To Be Continued….