Sammiy

Fierheart's paws worked furiously, and the river tossed him against the rock, driving the breath out of his body. He scrabbled at the rough surface, bracing himself against the rushing water, and found himself face-to-face with the two kits.

They were crouched on a tangled mat of twigs, leaves, and Twoleg rubbish. The mat lurched and their wails grew louder.

"Here we go," Fireheart muttered. "StarClan help us!" He pushed himself off from the rock, thrusting at the mat with his muzzle to guide it into the current. The two kits whimpered and flattened themselves against the twigs.
Fireheart put every last scrap of energy into pushing the mat ahead of him with his nose and paws. He could feel exaustion draining strength from his limbs. Raising his head and blinking water out of his eyes, he relised in horror that he had lost sight of the bank. It seemed as if there was nothing in the world but the churning water, the fragile mat of twigs, and the two terrified kits.