I do not know how long I lay bound in that pit, unable to see, unable to move, with the cord that lowered me fallen all around and over me. It was difficult to mark the passage of time, and I could only assume, based on my own hunger pains, that at least a full day had passed. I had nothing to occupy my time save for attempting to wring myself loose from my bonds. I could feel warmth around my wrists, and surmised that I had worn wounds into them, and blood now soaked into the ropes that held me captive.
The smell was thick, with a heavy dampness. My lungs begged for a waft of fresh air, aching with displeasure as they took in the foul odor of the pit. I began slowly working at the blood-soaked ropes that held my wrists together. With a single fingernail, I peeled back a patch of dried blood to work at the threaded cord beneath. I carefully and patiently began working at the cord with my finger and thumb, peeling apart the bonds thread by painfully small thread.
The work was tedious and very taxing on my fingers, and after several hours I had to take a break to give my swollen and sore digits time to heal. I had succeeded in freeing no more than half of an inch, and my bonds were still tight. I slept, breathing in the foul smell and lamenting my aching hand. When I awoke an indeterminate period of time later, I continued my slow, laboring process. Several days passed in this way, I alternated between my slow task of freeing myself and sleeping, with nothing for sustenance but the rag stuffed in my mouth, which I sucked on periodically, drawing whatever I could from it.
By the time I had picked my way through enough of the rope to free my hands, my index finger and thumb had been worn down nearly to the bone, and I was faint from hunger. I slowly worked myself free from the rest of my bonds, and rose to my feet. My ascent was short-lived, as the sudden rush of blood to my head caused me to faint back into the pile of rope. I awoke some time later, and took my time crawling around my confines in the dark, feeling blindly for sort of escape. In my current state, weak and worn, even if I found a foothold I did not believe I would have had the strength to climb out, especially not knowing how far down I had been lowered. My best hope was to find a patch leading toward the mines, and hopefully from there I could work my way back to the surface. What remained for me there, I did not know, but I could not focus on that now. What little strength I had must be devoted to escape from this hellish pit.
I felt along blindly in the dark for some time before I realized that I had moved a significant distance from my original location. I could no longer backtrack my steps to find the rope pile that marked what was to be my final resting place. I crawled and stumbled through the dark, with my hand on the wall, no discernable destination to work towards, hoping blindly to fall upon an existing path.
Once again, I do not know how much time passed there in the dark, but I had to stop and rest several times. My feet ached from my journey, and I was on the verge of giving up my life when a small glimmer of hope reached me. It was so little, but so significant to me. It was a smell, none of which I recognized, but different enough from the dank that enveloped me that some measure of the outside must be close.
My resolve strengthened, I pushed forward until the faint smell was strong indeed, and for the first time in days, my eyes met with light. It was distant, but flickered with the measure of a lit torch. My strength gone from my legs, I crawled towards the light until I could crawl no longer, and rested just shy of an opening into a small cavern. I heard the shuffling of beings inside, and from what I could hear, I surmised that the opening I neared rested atop the chamber, and that I was positioned near the top of it. I could hear all manner of rustling about, and my curiosity filled me with the strength to reach the ledge and peer over.
And that was where I first caught sight of the Horror at Kangi Crossing.