Pyrita was too old to be running at the speeds she was running. But if she slowed down, they might catch her.
Midwich Valley narrowed as she scrambled across the rough, snow-swept rocks and the vertiginous cliffs above felt even taller than usual, looming high enough to block out the moon. She wasn’t young enough to fly up and over them, not in one go, but she could speed herself up along the ground with small flaps of her leathery wings. So she did, fighting arthritis and the temperature alike to stay alive.
Her breath misted before her as she forced frigid air into her lungs, out of her lungs, in, out, in, out, even though her very diaphragm felt stiff. Her muscles screamed from overwork and her heart was ready to give out. But they’d seen her, she knew they had, so she had to keep moving. Adrenaline didn’t ease the pain, it just made it too easy to ignore. But she didn’t need to keep this up for long. She just needed to reach-
As the opposite walls of the valley met each other in a curve, she saw it: the entrance to the mine, yawning darker than midnight black at Midwich’s apex. Pyrita wanted to take a rest, to ease off for just a few moments, but she couldn’t afford that. She ran into the drift, giving a quick chirrup of echolocation.
Yet what came back was muddled, messy. Her hearing was beginning to go on the best of days, and now exertion had turned her heart into a drum pounding directly in her ears. Pyrita couldn’t make out enough of the return sounds to get a clear image and she didn’t trust her memory of the mine’s layout. She risked coming to a halt and chirruped again. Her ragged breathing made the sound too fuzzy for anything and what she heard back was even worse.
She couldn’t go into the mine. It was too dangerous. She couldn’t leave the mine. It was too dangerous. Panting like a dog, she looked over her shoulder. She couldn’t see them yet, but it was only a matter of time. It had to be. Her lips twitched as she instinctively mouthed out a prayer, a wish, for anything that could help-
Then she saw it. Right at the entrance, glinting in what little starlight there was. A discarded lamp. Which miner had lost it, Pyrita didn’t know. Maybe she had someone looking after her. As usual. She dove, grabbed it, gave it a rattle. Still had some oil (pity it wasn’t a gemmed version). She patted the ground around it, hoping for- Matches. She struck one — in spite of her shakes, she did it on the first try — and tried to light the lamp. And, stars above, the cussed thing caught immediately. It’d give away her position, but that was a risk she had to take; this was the only way she could move forward.
Holding the lamp aloft and murmuring out a prayer of thanks, Pyrita plunged into the mine.