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. Despite my fear, I chose to stay with the old man.
But I would have stayed anyway. There was something about
the old man's fierce determination that hit a nerve inside of me. He
was so sure of himself, so unafraid, that it inspired my confidence.
I had been impressed by the old man's sureness in the boat-how
he caught the Bela Fish and reeled him in so expertly. But, most of
all, I thought how wonderful it would be to witness this great feat
if the old man really did catch the monster fish. Six-Finger Fiske
would be famous, yes, but so would I! I'd be part of the greatest
adventure of our time; I'd be the most famous elf in the entire
world if I helped catch the Blood Sea Monster.
The old man pulled on the oars for a long time, his breath
growing ragged.
"Let me row for a while," I offered. "You'll need your strength
if the monster strikes your line."
"That's true," agreed Six-Finger. "I'm glad you came along."
His approval put a smile on my face. I dipped the oars into the
water and rowed as hard as I could.
It wasn't long before the moon and stars were obscured by
swirling clouds. We were entering the edge of the storm that
hovered over the center of the sea. The winds blew raw and cold.
And the water itself began to grow rough beneath the boat. We
were getting close to the whirlpool . . . close to the monster.
"Pull in your oars," ordered the old man. "I'll cast my line from
here
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