1.3 Take Me Home

I might have opened my eyes once or twice since then. I remembered looking up at the hole where the darkness had lightened to a perfect circle hazy blue. The next time it was dyed a shifting shade of red. Then purple. Then it flickered out like a candle into black again. The cycle passed at least twice, maybe more times, but I never moved. Maybe the colors had all been just part of a delusional dream

My stomach had stopped aching some time along the way. Sick of explaining to deaf ears why food input was necessary, it had decided to finish shriveling itself up in a sulky silence. It didn't even growl anymore. I felt the acid settle heavily against the lining walls. Was my stomach giving me the cold shoulder?

Ha, what a joke. Whereas before I lay here stunned and hopeless with no desire to move, now I physically couldn't muster the strength even though I do want to. I tried commanding my fingers to wiggle once, but they ignored me too. Time had sapped the little energy I had. A tree would have been more capable of picking up its roots up and tiptoeing away than I was of moving right now.

My extremities had disappeared, I thought. No longer were toes attached to my feet, or fingers hinging off my palms. Everything had gone numb. On the rare instances I was awake, my eyes more often than not refused to open. When they did open, all I could perceive was the blurred shape of pebbles and shadow.

If another toad happened to hop my way, I'd have to let karma run its course. It would be me struck down, crumbling, crumbling, crumbling—I cut off that train of thought with a shaky breath. There was no point in thinking about it. Some things were better off shut away to be dealt with at any time that was not right now.

I sighed, and motionlessly settled in to drift back into unconsciousness. It helped pass the time until my body finished shutting down. Dying was so boring. I was kind of afraid of it at first, but this endless monotony tore even that away from me. If only that rhythmic thumping would stop, I would already be back asleep by now.

I turned the corners of my lips downward to scowl (that was one muscle ability I had not lost). My heart was beating rather strongly for a muscle about to give out. Though I could not feel the pulses or the resulting rush of blood, I could hear them, a steady plod-plod that seemed to be increasing in volume. How strange? I could have sworn I heard my heart coming from somewhere off to the side.

How lovely, I was reaching the first stages of delirium, and my heart had somehow grown legs and began walking around because the timber of my heartbeat began to sound suspiciously like approaching footsteps. Not another toad. That would have sounded more…bouncy. No that word didn't quite fit. Jumpy? No. Leapy? Rubbery? Boundy? Ah, hoppy was the word I was thinking of. Wait was that even a word? Yes, the toad's approach had sounded more hoppy. Or maybe that was beer.

A gentle weight settled on my shoulder. Oh, I had forgotten the matter at hand. Ha-ha, hand, like that thing sitting on my shoulder. It prodded me slowly and cautiously like a child would a sleeping dog.

"Hey, are you alright?"

Oh, I must have been more out of it than I thought. The prodding came again along with the rumbling voice pitched high with concern.

"You poor thing! You must have fallen. Oh no, I better, oh but that looks painful, and how did this get…" The voice trailed off in worried mumbling.

With as much effort as I could scrounge up, I swiveled my eyes toward the voice. Dry pupils cracked with dust and dehydration dilated and contracted to make sense of the scene. I had no idea how he—it sounded like a he from the voice—got down here, but a pudgy boy suddenly hovered by my leg, fretfully swaying his arms back and forth over my head and torso. His body language looked lost, as if baffled as to whether he should prop me up or encourage me to stay down or breakdown himself and cry because he just didn't know what to do.

I couldn't make out his face, but I could tell he was really pale and must have been extremely cold. Fuzzy, white gloves with smooth grips covered his twitching hands. A matching had adorned his head with two floppy flaps that hung down the sides of his face. Entranced, I watched them flick back and forth as the turned his head to stare back into the dark the way he came then back down at me. I wanted to bat at them, like a cat with its favorite fuzzy toy. He repeated the motion several times. Flip, flop, flip, flop.

How did he get down here? It did not look like he fell. His clothes smelled fresh and warm like sweet cinnamon, and his manner, though worried, did not come off as disoriented or panicked for himself. Did he come here often?

The stupidity of that thought irritated me. Come here often? In random holes in the ground. But then again, it wasn't just a hole. I had seen the tunnel entrances myself, and who knew where those led. There was possibility there.

During my far too long periods of consciousness, I had firmly decided that no, I would very much not like to die of starvation at the bottom of some forgotten pit. I wasn't afraid of death; I would just rather not. Not like this. No matter how difficult it may be, I wanted to go back, outside, to see the horizon and the changing of seasons over and over again. It seemed futile at the time. Earlier on in my extended nap, I would have given my soul if it meant getting out of here. The idea of it was distant now though.

The boy's mumbling continued. I shifted a bit, trying to reign in motor control. After a few failed attempts, my hand balled into the soft fabric of his shirt. I gave a few weak tugs. I was practically an infant begging for attention.

He paused in his ministrations to look down into one cracked open eye.

"Thank goodness you're awake!" he breathed, and the obvious surprise on his face irritated me instantly. "I wasn't sure what I would do if you were—well you're awake now. What happened? How did you get here? How many fingers am I holding up? Wait, how rude of me. You probably need a minute before all these questions. By the way, what's your name?"

He finally shut up after that last one. With difficulty, I translated his rapid babble into words and opened my mouth in an attempt to produce some of my own. My bottom lip split from the effort. My tongue like a slab of dried gum, stuck to the roof of my mouth. It moved too clumsily to form proper sounds at first. All that came out was a dry gust of air. Disuse and dehydration had their way for far too long for me to speak now.

Out of habit, I liked my lips and tried again. Wishful thinking told me that this attempt was better than the last. I growled in frustration and bit at my already bleeding lip. Rusty copper registered on my taste buds, making my tongue slick and somewhat more flexible. That had actually helped somewhat. I gnawed and gashed on the split until a slow trickle of red poured out over my tongue. I, with a well satisfied smile, dismissed the slightly disturbed tilt of the boy's shoulders. It was just a bit of blood, you big baby. Properly lubricated, I successfully managed to croak out a small whisper.

"That's a strange name. But it suits you—oh sorry, I didn't mean it like that! It just…"

Blah, blah, sorry, blah. He really needed to get a handle on his babbling, but his nervousness was amusing. It reminded me of the way some kid used to squirm out excuses every time I convinced him to hand over his lunchbox. He never quite knew what to say to avoid making me mad while still keeping his apple juice. I wanted to pick on this boy some more too, but first things first: I wanted out.

I tugged to snap him out of his mumbling. My throat, raw and bloody, refused to carry sound very long, so I had to keep it simple. I needed a short phrase, something quick and easy to say. Yes, that would work.

"Home? You want to go there?"

I tugged again, irritated. No, I wanted to go to the moon. I repeated the request.

"Sure, of course I can take you there! I know my way around all of these caverns perfectly," he said proudly. Knowing how complicated cave systems got, I could admit that sounded like a pretty impressive feat, and I highly suspect the claim was more exaggeration than truth. There was no way he knew every mile of this place. Still, he didn't look particularly lost, and most kids weren't allowed the free reign to go around exploring random cave systems, so we must have been closer to the outside than I had expected.

Stubby digits curled around my shoulder as the thick band of his arm braced from behind and began to pull up. I got my own feet planted shakily below and was forced to slump heavily on his side. I could still not see entirely strait, and the vertigo that crashed as he helped me further up nearly knocked back out. A dry moan rumbled out from my throat.

"Are you all right? I'm so sorry! I'll try to be more gently, so just hang in there, alright," he started fussing again. I could make out the blob of his face hovering less than an inch away in my peripherals. This too was quite frankly beginning to get on my last nerves. Did he have to be so, so…close! True most of my weight was currently supported by his shoulders, which were a surprising mix of firm and puffy, but there was no need for him to shove his face in my own, constantly apologize, and repeatedly check if I was all right.

It was strange. How gently his arms wrapped around my back was strange. The concern in his voice was strange. His overall demeanor of kindness, of all things, was strange. No one went this far for a stranger. Sure, they might approach from curiosity or throw some spare bills every now and then into a hat, but no one could ever be this genuine in an effort to help. This kid must have been special. Mini-bus special, I amended. I had thought most parents taught their kids not to talk to strangers? Something was wrong with this picture, but I'd worry about ditching this weirdo once he led me out.

My wonderings were cut short by another wave of exhaustion. The kid, practically dragging my numb legs at this point, stared solidly ahead. His head bobbed toward me every now and again to check in or warn me about the rough patches in our path. After the first pothole nearly had us face planted thanks to my feet, he found is wise to narrate out journey.

The tunnels spiraled back and forth, sometimes branching off, sometimes conjoining with another to funnel into a single narrow road. I couldn't tell if we were moving up toward the surface or down deeper in, but amazingly enough he navigated the place as if there were signs directing our course. He called out the upcoming turns with unshakable confidence. Neither shadowed corridors nor dead ends affected him in the least. Sometimes, I caught him not even looking forward as we walked, his head bent in my direction instead.

Often the boy broke into periods of unrelated, one-sided chatter. The sounds tumbled together into one indecipherable mass for me, and I did not catch much. It did help me though. The noise kept me focused on the spinning routes and hauling one foot forward at a time. Lift, drag drop. Lift, drag, drop. The rhythm became familiar, yet no less difficult. He told me about his mom and her baking skills—I thought I heard something about snails, but I doubt it—his dad always busy with responsibilities, something about working with the ground that I didn't catch. From what I could decipher, he sounded like every other whining kid I'd been around. Life must be so hard for the poor little boy. Daddy's always busy, and mommy's no fun, probably bored with all his toys. I couldn't wait to get rid of him.

At least, I started to think so. Then a smudge of murky red flashed in and out the lower corner of my vision. It appeared and disappeared with every step. I turned just to get a big eyeful of the muddy blood streaks staining his striped sweater. It must have rubbed off on him as he was carrying me, pulling my dead weight through the tunnels. He never even flinched at it. Not for the first time, I wondered why he didn't just walk away.

More of his voice drifted into my ear. The whining I heard earlier lowered a decibel in pitch without my irritation sharpening its tone. It sounded…sad sometimes. Reading body language and vocal tones had become something of a specialty over the years. I genuinely enjoyed pressing others right to the brink of snapping then seeing them explode their aggression onto others. It took a delicate hand to know just the sting to pull, but it was a lot easier to accomplish when my senses were functioning properly.

I turned my head to peek at him with blurry eyes. I couldn't make out many words he said, but there was a clear note of sadness behind the false cheer. Something in his tone was lying to me. I was probably reading too much into this, but I would be careful going forward. There was just something about this boy.

Paradoxically, he also seemed like a good kid, the best I'd ever met with his unnatural niceness. Good boys always seemed to have the worst issues. For once, reading hurt in another's attitude didn't settle well on me. There was no satisfaction in find a chink in his cheer.

So tired. This was out of character for me, but the head injury was screwing with my thoughts anyway. When we got out and I could feel the sun again, I might thank him.

With that, against a distant sound of rushing water, I fell asleep. Not unconscious, just resting easily for a little while.

*+*;+**+;*+*

I awoke to the quiet shushes and tinkles of dripping water and a soft, blue glow illuminating the area. I had never been one to stare googly eyed at pretty sunsets, but this place was absolutely beautiful. It must have been night time because the stars were twinkling somberly overhead against an impenetrable darkness. More importantly, a small stream shining with a light of its own flowed just a few feet away. I could feel the cool mist radiating off it. My mouth was dry and cracked, and my hands began to shake at the prospect of relief for my parched throat so close by.

I crawled over with spider-like quickness and shoved my head deep into the stream. Greedy gulps went down with some difficulty, but the sensation of liquid dripping into me easily outweighed any such minor discomfort.

One minute passed. Nearly two. My lungs began to file complaints of their own, and at the conclusion of a brief debate I tore my head gasping from the water. After nearly drowning myself, I felt surprisingly good. Maybe it was from the rest (not just blacking out), maybe from the water, but the agony I had been experiencing before had now died down to a mere terrible ache that covered my body. Though painful, I could easily handle this much. Moving around, even if only hobbling, had done me a lot of good.

I leaned back away from the bank to take further inventory of myself. Greenish purple bruising canvased my arms from wrists to shoulders and likely onto my back. I poked at the bones on my sides, visible through dry, thin skin. My ribs, though they had taken a beating, were not broken. Nothing seemed to be bleeding any longer, only the already present dried blood showed ghastly and very gruesome over my shirt.

I did have one problem, however. My stamina was completely shot. The expended effort that brought me to the water's edge left me panting from exertion. All of my limbs shook in a struggle to obey my commands. Something seemed to be moving improperly in my legs though. The flexing of one foot alerted me to a scratchy resistance around my ankle. Cream-colored gauze wrapped sloppily around my foot twisting up to the base of my calf. Someone had tried, not very well I snorted, to patch me up.

The kid! Where was he anyway? He probably left me here to go back to his parents before it got too late. He just dropped me outside and left. I scowled at the stream. I shouldn't have felt bitter about it, seeing as he did get me out of the caves after all, but I did feel bitter. The dumb brat, I didn't know why I imagined him as different from any other. What else could have happened? People were all the same in the end. I knew this.

Too consumed with my thoughts—which definitely weren't full of self-pitying brooding—I did not hear the rustle of fabric behind me or the growly, snuffling yawn, and I most definitely did not jump a foot in the air at the sudden, cheerful greeting, "Howdy, guess we both could've used a quick rest, huh."

He hadn't left? I twisted around rapidly in my shock just to get my first real sight of his face. He really hadn't—I choked and tumbled backwards. My eyes must have been more messed up than I thought earlier because the gloves I saw coving his hands had turned into bulky paws protruding on the ends with sharp, disemboweling claws. The flappy hat joined with the rest of his white, fur covered skull and trailed into two wide, flopping ears. As if that wasn't enough, a muzzle, I didn't understand how I could have possibly missed that, elongated his face ending with knife like canines peeking from under his lips—his hackles.

The stripes had fooled me. My mind flashed back to the toad. I had to get away. It hopped toward me. I got to me feet and searched desperately for the most efficient escape route. Town couldn't possibly be too far away, I thought. I searched desperately right and left. Dread settled in my stomach.

The dark expanse of the sky that I had so admired curved without a horizon down into a solid, stony floor. The lights above which I had inattentively taken to be stars were too large, too bright, and too few. They were crystals poking from a ceiling of rock and dirt.

I had been deceived. No wonder that thing claimed to know its way all through the caves. How else would it be able to lure me to its den?

I glared at it and at my own naïve idiocy. It took a half step backward and raised an arm in front of itself. It tried to ask me what was wrong, had something happened in that same sweet voice that had worried over me before. How could that thing speak? The toad couldn't. Yes, something most certainly was wrong! I had figured out its little game.

I charged forward and smashed into his pudgy—no, not pudgy, monstrously chubby…wait that still didn't sound right—body. We both went down. He winced on contact with the floor, but I came out worse for wear. With my well thought out maneuver, I had managed to not only skin my knee and twist my wrapped ankle, but I had also succeeding in bashing my nose against one of the previously unnoticed horns on the top of its head.

I smelled more than felt the slight drip of blood running down from my nose over my chin.

"Oh gosh, you're bleeding! Does it hurt? Give me a moment I'll grab a tissue."

He then began reaching into a pocket under me, completely impeded by my weight. I upped my struggle to pin him down. He pressed some lavender smelling cloth over my nose.

What?

A few minutes later, I was seated again by the stream holding a kerchief to my bleeding nose while he—it? he?—kneeled in front of me re-bandaging the loosened gauze around my much abused foot. I repeat, what?

I had attacked him in fury, tackled him to the ground, howling like a madman, and in response he nursed my bloody nose? Who did that! Was he looking down on me? Was I so pathetically weak that he thought he could mock me by healing me up before turning around to devour my kidney?

He hummed a music box tune as he twirled the bandage round and round in too thick layers. I cast my gaze around the room in search of a weapon, not that he noticed. What was he waiting for? I had been broken, dragged, terrified and unconscious for the past who knows how long, so what more did he want from me? He tucked in the final loose end under a previous fold and beamed proudly at his work. I followed his gaze dumbly downward. The wrap job was again sloppy and amateurish. I could have easily done it better myself and had half a mind to, but then he shifted that smile to me.

It was wide with sharp shredding teeth at the front followed by neat rows of white, grinding molars. His species most be omnivorous, a removed portion of my mind noted. It was a goofy smile, wide and innocent, and I felt a slice of humiliation at my previous fear. I had been afraid of this? He was a dope, and I told him as much directly as I got up to leave.

"A dope? What's that?...What! Why am I a, umm, dope? Hey!" He scrambled up from kneeling, nearly tripping over his own paw. His flailing attempt to catch himself was even more ridiculous than the fact that he tripped in the first place.

I laughed a quiet snicker behind one hand. It wasn't the laugh of impossible pain or the humor of hopelessness that I had given before. I laughed a genuine laugh that touched something inside me. I felt a small crack seal just a little bit shut as I watched him climb oafishly back to his feet.

I fell silent and listened to the echoes parade down the tunnels branching off from our room. They sobered me. I was still inside. Down here in the hole.

Undoubtedly it was beautiful with its cascades of miniature waterfalls and the shining of crystal, but I still wanted out. I still missed the ability to see further than three yards in any direction. I felt claustrophobic in here, surrounded my heavy walls and darkness.

I turned sharply around to glare at him. Even in he wasn't a rampaging monster bent on devouring my flesh, he had promised to bring me outside, but I was still underground. Maybe the trip would take longer than I expected. I had fallen asleep in the middle of our trip, and it would be unreasonable to expect him to haul me all the way out himself. I didn't know why, but I was kind of hoping he hadn't lied to me. But I was well aware by now that hope was stupid, and I was stupid for hoping. The fact that I did anyway frayed my patience and caused my question to come out my harshly than I intended. Was he not supposed to be taking me back outside?

He shrank back and stuttered out a response to my accusing question. "What, outside? Of course I can't take you there—"

And this was why I hated the mere concept of hope. It was the worst betrayer. He had lied. It made sense. No one could possibly be that good. I wondered what his motives were for keeping me here. A human pet maybe? It would fit with his treatment so far, fond and gentle. I began to picture what kind of collar he would give me. It wouldn't be too bad as long as it had stripes, but that might clash with my sweater, and then I would have to bite him.

"—the passage to the surface has been barricaded for decades. And anyway, I promised to take you to Home, didn't I?"

How did that that make sense? I stared incredulously. I didn't know what to say to that. He would take me home but not outside? What did that even mean? My home was outside, not anywhere specific, mind you, but outside. Sometimes home was under a tree or on a park bench or camped out in a cozy alley behind a restaurant. Home was under the sky and free of walls and bindings. That was the only home I knew of.

I was about to prompt further explanation when he spoke again. "We're about halfway there as is. It's not big, but Home is cozy. Kind of cramped though, but what can you do. It is the capital after all."

That took me a silent minute to process. I never had much schooling, but despite the insults I often received, I was no idiot. I had a strange half-beast, half-human monster guide in a striped shirt showing me around a well-traveled underground cave system and making small talk about a capital. Capital likely meant capital city. He called it 'home' meaning he lived there. His being a monster led to the logical assumption that we were rapidly approaching a central gathering point of numerous monsters who lived in an unknown, likely sophisticated underground society.

It was at this point I begun to minutely freak out. I stopped. He kept walking. I began to hyperventilate, and he turned around. I promptly turned on my heel and walked in the opposite direction of wherever it was he was trying to lead me. This must have finally clued him in that something was wrong.

"Hey, where are you going? Are you alright? Heh-heh, I seemed to be asking that a lot, right. Sorry."

No, I told him, I most certainly was not alright. He was walking me into a potentially hostile den of monsters who very well might decide to tear me to pieces and bathe in my blood. How could I possibly be alright! I would have better luck giving that hole at the top of the wall another go.

He looked appalled and nearly sick from that image. "Of course they wouldn't! That would be terrible. Who would do such a—is…is that what humans would do if a monster appeared?" His eyes widened to a ridiculous extent

What?

"Would you tear one to pieces and bathe in blood?"

I broke from my rant, struck but the idiocy of that remark. My first instinct was to shout a denial, to tell him that humans didn't do that kind of thing. Yuck. That would be barbarous, insane, cruel, positively monstrous… Then I thought again of him humming a tune and bandaging my foot with his fuzzy paws, of him looking down past his large toothed muzzle over me, scared for me. Still silent, I considered changing my word choice.

If a hurt monster was found by humans, what would happen? I thought of fluffy, white pelts hung on walls, thought of museums, and thought of the jagged teeth of bear traps set to catch Bigfoot. I thought of scientists taking a scalpel to his chest, matting his white fur with blood in order to study how his abnormally large heart beat differently from ours. I thought of myself tackling him to the ground ready to beat him with my bare hands until only one of us was left, and I thought of the dust still hiding in the threads of my sweater.

I barely whispered out a no, humans wouldn't do that, but in my head I continued. We would do much, much worse.

It seemed he couldn't hear my thoughts. He looked relieved, but eager to forget the violent depiction. I apologized, another first for me, and explained it away as a fear from a bad nightmare. I wiped my hand over my shirt to clear any dusty blotches he might see. As far as he knew, he was first monster that found me, and that's how it would stay. He was just a kid, regardless of the fur and claws, but I didn't know what he would do if he figured anything out. He didn't need to know, and I had no intention of telling.

The aching heaviness returned in the pit of my stomach. My unrestricted movement probably just agitated some of my wounds. I ignored it.

"You shouldn't worry about that kind of thing, no one will mind that you're a human. Though I've never actually met a human before, you know. I read about them in books and all that my mom gave me, and I found all these cool DVDs by the garbage falls, but I don't think they're all that accurate. Are they? Or do you humans really fight in outer space with robots and giant swords? That would be so cool! Hey, what is space like? I can't really imagine what real stars are like, but I bet they're really pretty, and the sky is probably really wide and open."

Yeah, I told him, it is pretty. He babbled on about the outside, and I felt the walls closing in on me again. Patches of dirt crumbled of the walls in several places. What if there was a cave in? He didn't seem particularly nervous about it and kept up the conversation with minimal prodding from me.

"What about clouds, what are they like?"

White. Fluffy. Vapid and floating around. Just like him I supposed.

"Hey! That's mean," he attempted a glare almost as intimidating as bunny-rabbit's. "I have plenty of substance, I'll have you know!"

Mostly located around the tummy area. I poked him to emphasize my point.

"Nuh-uh, that's all fur and muscle. And—and, my mom says we're all just big-boned!"

I smirked at his floundering. Oh? I had certainly heard that one, usually followed by the creaking of whatever poor chair the guy was sitting on.

He averted his eyes for a moment.

No way, I burst into laughter. He actually broke a chair before!

"It was already broken! I didn't notice the leg was unsteady until after I sat down. I'm not fat! I've been carrying you all this way haven't I, and you're more out of breath than I am."

Ture, but I also likely had a bruised rib or something. He had been nice to me though, so I amended myself. He wasn't fat, I promised, just adorably pudgy. I had found one of his sore spots, and I was definitely not about to give it up.

I had plenty of experience with spinning words. Insults were always barbed and one-sided either directed at me or cast at my enemies. Sweet phrases laced with poison were things I crafted as an art. I was keeping it mild right now to test the waters. His responses were perfect, and I smiled to myself as I saw his eyes flick down to his stomach once or twice in uncertainty. It left me feeling funny, kind of fuzzy inside. I had gotten into his head, how advantageous.

I had to be careful though. I snuck a quick peek at him to check for any signs of serious anger. Amusing at it was, I could not afford to really hurt this kid. It wasn't that I found the idea distasteful, I rationalized, just I didn't want to go too far and give him cause to drop me. It would be easy, just toss me in the flowing stream, and he could wash his hands and walk away. The water looked smooth and lazy on the surface. In it I saw, my reflection, small and battered, and his much larger and more steady on his feet. I could tell that under the placid surface the waters rushed with a dark speed into the depth of the cavern. I would never get out.

I glanced again upward, and somehow I couldn't even convince myself that that would be a possibility. I would have no problem tossing someone who insulted me into a river, but him? He was too innocent for that. I frowned. Why pull my punches then? Maybe I, as foreign as this sounded, liked the kid and didn't want him to dislike me. Did that mean I would have to refrain from insulting him?

"You alright? You suddenly look really peaky—I'm so sorry! I didn't notice you may be getting tired. We can settle down here and rest for a bit if you want." So soft.

I shook my head. It looked like all that worrying was for nothing. I could probably kill his mother and he'd still forgive me a second later. I wondered if his whole family was like that. Maybe I wouldn't tear him apart mentally, but insults he didn't notice should still be fine. I could use some practice on subtle barbs.

"Well, okay then. Hang in there. It's just a little farther ahead"

How could he tell? Everything looked the same to me. I focused to get a better look around. The stream we had been following began to diverge from the path ahead. We moved closer to one wall while it disappeared into a deep gorge in the ground.

The stone that had previously been tinted blue and sparkling from the reflections of crystal and water slowly deepened in shade to a melodious purple. The sound of rushing water faded completely and up ahead, I began to see the grooved patterns of brickwork covering the rough texture of the cavern walls.

He gained energy with every step, urging me forward. In stark contrast, I hung back to delay our arrival.

True, he was nice, but what about the rest of the monsters. I jerked to a halt, head bowed and gaze locked entirely on the hole in my left shoe. The tip of one toenail peaked out, thick with grime and dirt. My feet declined to carry me farther.

Slowly he came back and moved in front of me. He cradled my shoulders within his hands. It surprised me enough to lift my head. So warm, his eyes, his hands, his tone. "Don't be afraid. Everything will be all right. I promise."

I believed him, and we walked forward.