He knew the dangers. Well, he thought he did. He had to be careful. Only a fool would proceed .... or someone like him. Hmmm. What exactly he was gradually nearing, he wasn't certain.

It had been more or less impossible to see in front of his face for some time. Stumbling along, not knowing the cause of his stumbles. What was that brushing past his face?.. Best not consider that too much. His hands were not actually running with blood, but they were damp. The tips of his fingers and palms of his hands raw. That's what they felt like. A result of his stumbling and reaching out to stop himself from going completely headlong, into he knew not what. Yes ...... what? ....... Only that it had the consistency of treacle. Warm treacle that sucked at his feet. Perhaps that was the sickly smell .... or was it something else?

All that was urging him on now, was that he couldn't face the thought of returning from whence he came. The perspiration from his forehead, was annoyingly dripping into his eyes and would have prevented him from seeing where he was going, if only he could see where he was going!

He was a tall man, but when he had reached up ... the thought now sent ripples discomfort across his back .... he hadn't been able to tell, just the feel of slime and something gelatinous, unsolid and that reacted to his hands as if they were something abhorrent.

The walls of this tunnel, if it was a tunnel, were certainly of some rock- like substance. It was hard enough and in places sharp and rough enough, but here and there it too, had that gelatinous feel. Sometimes, the walls, if they were walls, they might just be obstacles, were at less than arms length. Other times, he lost them altogether, as the treacly trough he was walking through, forced him to forego his squiggy hand holds along either wall.

Sometimes, there was some light, but not enough to show him his surroundings. Not a phosphorescence, but pin-pricks of light that sparkled momentarily, then were gone, only to be replaced elsewhere but equally short lived. Then nothing at all. Complete darkness, as opposed to incomplete darkness. Or .....?

His clothes, now torn and .... well just torn, were sticking to him with sweat. He hoped with sweat. Despite the problems with his forward movement, he had kept a steady even pace. He could feel exhaustion looming, but this seemed to give him renewed energy to fight it off, as he continued, he knew not where.

Every so often, whatever he was walking/stumbling through seemed to move. It felt solid enough under foot, through the thick goo, whatever that was, but it would shift. Not always in one direction, but in several directions at once. A very strange feeling. Like being drunk, but not enough not to realise it was happening.

There were sounds too, if only he could make them out. Silent sorts of sounds, but always there, never all around. In fact he couldn't really tell where they emanated from. They sounded close by, but faint, making him think they were coming from further away. What really confused him and caused him to be constantly wheeling around, was that the direction he thought they were coming from, would change. In the dark, this just disorientated him. It worried him too. It was almost as if something was passing him, or around him, but in the darkness ... nothing.

What was that?! Ahead, or what he presumed was ahead, a booming, echoing thwump. He could feel movement in the air, where before it had been still and stale, except for that sweet sickly smell, rising from what ever he was walking through. It was getting stronger, first like a breeze, now stronger. There was a rushing sound, again in front of him, a whooshing sort of noise. It was a wind, well air, he presumed it was air, stale and warm, being forced towards him ..... by something ...?

He could see something now, far ahead, an opaque whiteness, changing shape as he stared at it, momentarily mesmerised, as it got larger, until he realised it wasn't getting larger. It was getting nearer. He could now make out a low grumbling sound too and an intermittent shrill shriek.

The force of the wind was getting stronger, gusts almost sending him backwards into the blackness behind him. His instinct was to clutch/grab at whatever he could, to support himself, but whereas, the walls were previously only occasionally slippery, they were now almost liquid with this goo-y substance. He couldn't fix his hands to whatever was there. He began to panic, his arms flayed at anything he could. He tried to turn, but the substance beneath his feet had thickened and despite his intention to move, his body twisted, but his feet remained almost fixed. As if in slow motion, he fell in a distorted heap, face down into the goo, just as the whiteness overtook and enveloped him where he had fallen. It was as if the breath was sucked from his lungs and he passed out.

He awoke, regained conscious thought, at least. There was something familiar. A throbbing. He could feel it through his body. There was also a sound of .... what was it? .. Like screaming metal ...pulsing ?

His eyes were open, but his sight was cloudy, slowly clearing. He realised he was lying on his back. It was so bright, which prevented him from opening his eyes wide. He turned his head to his left. Something there was forming, something round, as his sight focused. Not one, but several, evenly spaced.

He moved his head to the right and there was a tree or like a tree. A thin tree, perched on its roots, multi-trunked, with branches. No not branches, something curved, short and stubby, without leaves, but something brown and circular on one arm, was it an arm, and on another, was it a vine ... no, too broad and variously coloured. He blinked his eyes to help clear the mirk. He was inside somewhere, definitely inside... somewhere?

Behind where he was lying, something that had been moving, had now ceased and the throbbing he had been feeling had ebbed and was now much more gentle. It was also suddenly silent, just a faint hum in the background

A-Ha!

He sat up.

The old girl had saved him again!