1st of Spring It was the middle of the night. There was no moon, but the stars were bright as ever. The ever-present wind roared, and brought with it the warmth that had been lacking the previous season. Spring was here. It was time. He was alone in the cave. He had traded his old clothes for ones he had found scattered around, and though they were a bit dusty they were better than shreds. He had ripped up said shreds and tied them together, making a crude rope, but though there wasn’t much to fasten it to he wasn't going to let that stop him. He was going as fast as he could, but every movement caused blood to seep from two hefty gashes in his side and leg. The pain was something he could ignore, but his limbs were sluggish with sheer exhaustion. He needed to get out. He needed to escape. If he didn’t, he would die. If Malady didn’t kill him than he would kill himself. The massive drop from the ledge tempted him every night, weaving through his dreams with sweet whispers, telling him to simply walk off. After all, even death had to be better than this hell he lived in now. No. Khasr shook his head, dispelling his morbid thoughts. Thoughts did nothing. Actions were what were important. He traced the mouth of the cave, searching for anything suitable. His finger caught on a small ledge jutting from the wall, and he grinned without realizing it. Wrapping a minimal amount of rope around it, he threw the rest over the edge and didn’t spare the deadly drop a second glance before grabbing ahold and starting his descent. Over the course of the season all fear of heights and death had been completely erased, leaving his mind as clear as could be to focus completely on getting down. Nevertheless, a large jolt of concern shot through him when he felt the rope give. Looking up, he soon determined that despite the drastic increase in his night vision since his capture, he could see absolutely nothing at the top of the rope. He quickly looked down to see how far it was to the ground. He was still a good thirty feet up. It jolted again, and he looked around anxiously. His eyes caught on a root jutting from the cliff face, and he gulped when the rope gave again. It was ripping. He closed his eyes and uttered a quick prayer to Zulrav to keep him safe, then jumped sideways. His feet remade contact quickly and he began a sprint along the face of the cliff, and when he felt more tearing he spared a glance up. Twenty feet above him, the poor excuse for a rope was almost completely ripped through. It snapped, and Khasr jumped. He grunted as he collided with the root, which was actually the size of a log, and scrabbled for a hold. It wobbled dangerously, threatening to snap, and he quickly relocated to the base, as close to the stone of the cliff as he could. It didn’t feel nearly as perilous, and though the outer tendrils still shook the root would not betray him. His limited strength was waning. Breathing hard, he quickly drew the end of the rope to shoulder-level and bound it to the root. His muscles gave way, and he fell five feet or so before his grasp on the rope jerked him to a sudden and painful stop. He hissed as the wounds were tugged, but wasted no more breath as he continued downwards. The rope ended ten feet above the ground, and Khasr let go. He yelped as he hit packed dirt and rolled, feeling a number of his scabs open. He gasped as he dragged himself to his feet, giving most of his weight to the cliff side. He looked up, and far away he spotted the cave that had been his prison. He grinned without realizing it. There was a snort from behind him and he wheeled, eyes wide. There was a figure, black on black, standing barely a few strides away. It was tall, the darkness that made its form sucking all light from around it. Khasr’s breathing became agonizingly slow and shallow. He knew that creature. The black bay strider blinked, then stepped forwards. |