involuntarily reached out for it. Then he hesitated, looked
around this empty space in wonder. He drew his hand
back, unsure what was happening.
“You seemed in need of sustenance.” A voice
from the darkness.
Wank pulled the last plug of darkmoss from his
ratty trousers, the leggings tattered to strings below the
knees.
He began a very small fire with flint and dagger, a
faint blue light now emanating from a small mound near
the fish, a scaled albino trout by the looks of it.
Wank asked, “Who are you?” His voice echoed
across the cavern.
He got no response from his query, not even an
indrawn breath. There was no movement, no sound save
for the slow drip and hollow echo of some leak in the
ceiling’s dome splashing quietly, contentedly into the
underground pool. He stared at the fish, knowing he
would eat it, that his survival most likely depended on
eating it.
Eventually Wank’s desire took over and he picked
up the fish and began to eat the raw, white thing. It was
firm and slightly oily, but broke apart easily in his teeth.
The taste was clean and fresh and he gulped it down
greedily, his body shaking once again with a need it knew
was finally being answered.
“You are different than the other creatures.”
67