toward the entrance on numb legs. More stalactites began
to fall, loose shelves of rock layers broke loose, fell into
the lake with great splashes.
Once out of the cavern he ran for as long as his
legs would carry him.
The flashes of scintillating madness now long
behind him, Wank entered a cavern, much like any other.
He had been in so many now, but only a few held meaning
for him. This one was a void, empty to him, damp,
emitting an echo for every movement no matter how
small. Every step brought rock or hardscrabble detritus
underfoot. He found a low shelf near the back and
stretched out upon it, every muscle atremble, every joint
an ache, his skull a mass of hammer blows. Alone again, he
nevertheless focused a light veil of shadow about himself
before falling asleep.
There were no dreams. Only a deep sleep, its
darkness rivaled only by the inky blackness he lived in
every day. When he awoke, it was to a flickering light and
the echo of guttural voices. The smell of roasting meat
wafted over him, making his mouth water and allowing his
lips to part after being licked by the sudden moisture on
his tongue.
Wank’s body felt strapped down, so stiff was he.
And despite this, he dare not move. Only two orcs sat
around a small fire, apparently cooking a vole of some
kind, it’s greasy hide dripping fat and spitting occasional
sparks at their bare shins.
74
Another day, Wank might have chased them off,