The cry

The far side of the chasm turned out to be closer than I’d thought. The rock here is very different to the smooth limestone in the rest of the tunnel. It’s gritty, and crumbles under my claws. And the tunnel is higher. The floor slopes upwards towards the light, which is much brighter. Altogether it’s a much more inviting prospect than diving blind into an unseen chasm. So I’ve made up my mind to go on.

But before I do, I have to go back. There’s something I have to see. Because, not long after I landed, I heard a sound from the other side – the side I’d left behind. A scuttling sound, and a long, drawn-out cry. Almost a scream. Then silence.

I think that whatever – or whoever – has been following me slid down the same slope I did. Did they fall over the edge and into the chasm? I don’t know. Part of me wants to ignore the thought and just keep going. But another part wants to go back and take a look. Perhaps they fell. Or perhaps they stopped short of the precipice and went back the way they came. Or perhaps they’re hanging on to the edge, unable to climb back, certain to fall, just as soon as their strength gives out.

All I know for certain is that if I don’t find out I won’t be able to live with myself. For better or worse, I have to know. So I’m spreading my wings and flying back the way I came, back through the darkness, to face my pursuer.

I hope I don’t regret it.