The pool exploded with a fury of water as
Morgan Fritz burst from the passage, gasping for air. He grasped onto the edge of the pool and breathed heavily for a
moment before pulling himself out of the chilled water. He sat for a moment to calm his breathing
before standing in the pitch-blackness. He looked left, then right, though it made no difference which way he
looked; everything was black. He turned
around and wondered whether he had really turned around or not. He was lost already.
Just then, the pool exploded once more right
in front of Morgan giving him a brief idea of where he was in the cave. A loud gasp rose though the stale air and
the noisemaker climbed out of the pool. "Who's there?" asked Morgan.
"It's me," said the noisemaker, "your
brother."
"Jeffan? What are you doing here?"
"I followed you," said Jeffan Fritz as he
calmed his breathing, "I didn't know what to do when that shadowy character,
Murdoc, reported that you had disappeared into the pool at the waterfall. I figured you might be in danger so I
followed you."
"Well I'm not in danger," stated Morgan,
"but I am glad you're here."
The brothers had been close since Jeffan's
birth. They had grown up together in
the woods just north of This Place where their father owned and operated a
farm. They had been taught in the ways
of farming, but Morgan had always prided himself on his ability to hunt. Jeffan also found the hunt more enjoyable
than any farming could ever possibly hope to be, that is, if it could possibly
hope to be anything. Together they
would venture out into the woods and be gone for days and return with a large
deer or occasionally a small or medium sized bear. Though he tried not to show it too often, Morgan valued his
brother's presence on any hunt, which is precisely why he had been brought to hunt
the Hobbles in the first place.
"What are you doing in this cave?" asked
Jeffan after the brothers had grasped hands in greeting.
"How
familiar are you with the man known as Tribbon?" Morgan answered with another
question.
"I know little of this Tribbon fellow, only
that you are not fond of him."
"Indeed I am not. Tribbon has crossed my path many times and each time he has
gotten in my way. It started when I was
two, a year before you were born. Mother had taken me into town and was about to buy me a piece of candy
from Old Man Tilbo, but I never got that candy. Tribbon and his mother had also come to town that day and he too
got a piece of candy from Tilbo, but he got their first and received the last
piece of candy. I still hate him for
that, that rotten thief. Years to come
he would get in my way: steeling my prey, steeling my jobs, even steeling my
women.
"Just as we came into that clearing, I saw
Tribbon drop into the pool under the waterfall. I became curious as to what he might find inside the pool and
imagined a vast fortune of buried treasure," Morgan paused and then continued,
"If that is true, and there really is a treasure here, I plan to steel it from
Tribbon. Revenge can be sweet if you
only let it."
If it weren't incredibly dark, Jeffan would
have been able to see a glare in his brother's eyes, an obsession building or
possibly already built. Instead, he was
forced to hear it in his brother's voice. "All right," said Jeffan, cautiously, "so where is Tribbon?"
Morgan looked into the darkness and said,
"Out there," and he gestured with an invisible arm towards the vast darkness of
the cave, which was actually the wall of cave since he really didn't know where
he was facing anymore.
"I guess we'll need a light then," said
Jeffan, "but all I have is a flint and a rock."
"Well I happen to have a stick," said
Morgan, and the two of them went about lighting the stick on fire.
First, Morgan tore a strip of cloth from his
shirt and wrapped it tightly around one end of his stick. He then doused the fabric with what was once
called whisky and is now referred to as booze, along with most other forms of
alcohol regardless of smell, taste, or colour. Once the fabric had been drenched, Morgan took a swig of his booze as
Jeffan attempted to light the fabric. After several tries and many swigs on the canteen that held Morgan's
booze, the torch was burning and they could finally see where they were. "That's better," said Morgan who was now a
little woozy from his drinking.
"Look," said Jeffan as he pointed to the
floor, "There is a thick layer of dust on the floor and there are footprints
leading into the darkness."
"Good work, Jeffan," Morgan smacked his
brother on the back, proving that he may have had a little too much to drink.
Jeffan, after a short recovery from the blow, took the torch from his brother and began following the footprints. "Come on," he called over his shoulder, and Morgan followed after in a gleeful, yet stumbling manner.
