Whitefish River It doesn't matter what you mean. It's what you do.

Tired of the humdrum life in Neverwinter, Belharra coursed east. She crossed a thin range and made her way past springs hot with sulfur. Needing no kind of bath in such rancid water, Belharra continued onward.

She came to a river iced over, but did not trust it. Batwing ice, it had been called in her homeland: the ice as thin as the membrane of a bat, with little veins of blue running through. "Not gon' get me, you aint." She remarked, retreating from the bank. She returned shortly thereafter, lugging a stick in her mouth - and threw it heftily into the river.

It landed with a sharp clatter and a piercing sound; the ice, broken over, quickly sucked the stick under. Belharra felt relieved it had been but a stick, and not a leg - very few animals would have survived that type of rushwater.