Part 3
The chipmunk was soaked through and shivering, not so much from the temperature as from fighting the floodwaters. His muscles were worn out.
He tested his weight on his injured leg, but a lightning bolt of pain shot through it. Though it didn't feel broken, he was reasonably certain the bone was cracked.
"Stars!" he muttered under his breath. He was in a fix.
Although it had stopped raining for the moment, dark storm clouds bruised the sky in the west, casting an ominous gloom over the landscape. He needed to find shelter soon. The gravel bar on which he stood bled into a grassy field with only a few scraggly trees growing along the edges. Not much in the way of shelter. And with his leg the way it was, he'd have to hole up somewhere for at least a week before he tried to make his way upstream to his home, provided there still was a home to return to.
The chipmunk grunted. The nearest cluster of trees was downstream in the opposite direction of home. But there was a stone outcropping near the waterfall that looked promising. Even if the stream flooded more, the stone appeared to be high enough to avoid the worst of it.
Dislodging a stick from the gravel bar, he tested its strength. It would do. He lifted his injured leg and put pressure on the makeshift crutch, hop-hobbling across the rocky surface until he reached the grass of the field. The days of rain had pummeled the grass into a thick carpet which was difficult to navigate. But with a bit of struggle, he made it to an overhanging ledge.
Several cavities had been drilled into the limestone by eons of dripping and churning water. Most were shallow and damp, but two promised to keep him dry. They smelled of urine, but he didn't care.
"Urine is better than death."
