//------------------------------// // 4 - Racing Shadows // Story: Just Passing Through // by Caliaponia //------------------------------// Racing Just passing through shadows The door closed with a soft thud, and he stood before the tracks he had seen earlier; rust flaked off the loose rails and crumbling ties that had once carried the mine’s lifeblood. Well, at least there’s one kind of train wreck I don’t have to worry about – I can scratch ’minecart escapades’ off today's agenda, he thought wryly. Still, though the track itself is trashed, it points the way to the exit, so the dog should’ve gone this way as well. The rails ran along the building for only a short distance before they reached the edge of the cavern and disappeared into a small side tunnel. Looking around, he didn't see any other exits, which agreed with his recollection of the map. He followed the track onwards into an offshoot of the natural cavern, where the walls soon narrowed and the ceiling pressed close. Soon, it was nothing but a cramped passageway, with tool marks making it clear how it had been made passable for the minecarts. Even with the excavation the tight quarters barely fit his frame, and he found himself having to hunch over slightly with the decoy basket held awkwardly before him and the butt of his spear trailing in the ground behind. Good thing I'm not claustrophobic, though I do wish I had a helmet. Up ahead, the rough-cut tunnel ended in a square of blackness that swallowed up the beam from his flashlight. Reaching it, he found the tunnel had broken through into a large natural cavern, about the size of a football field. Here the walls formed a semicircle, with the tunnel emerging at one end. From there, the track ran atop a ledge that hugged the curving left wall, while the wall to the right was a flat plane that dropped into a dark pit that dominated the center of the room. The ceiling was a rough dome of raw rock, riddled with cracks and bare of any stalactites or stalagmites. Fallen stone fragments lay everywhere, ranging from small pebbles to boulders the size of a phone booth. He set out, moving briskly along the trackbed around the pit and stepping carefully to avoid slipping on the loose rock littering its surface. The going was treacherous, but manageable, and he made good progress. He had made it perhaps two thirds of the way around the edge when he felt the ledge shift beneath his weight. The rails groaned as the ground moved under them and he froze, swaying slightly as he tried to maintain his balance. His pulse pounded and his heavy breathing was loud against the fading echoes of twisting metal and dislodged stones clattering down into the dark void. Holy crap, that was too close! I could've died! Ice ran through his veins and he broke into a sweat as the last echoes faded away. He didn't want to move, but staying on the ledge wasn’t safe either, and every heartbeat spent waiting put the foals further away. His gut was a keening void as he resumed his advance, gingerly testing his footing at each step. Driven by a growing sense of urgency, he slowly increased his pace, his stomach gradually unknotting as he picked his way down the rubble-strewn tracks. At the far end, the curving wall re-encountered the flat plane, and the track turned sharply to run alongside it before disappearing into a vertical fissure in the rock. He was only a few strides from the fissure, when he heard voices echoing behind him. Abandoning caution, he quickly scurried ahead to the exit, the basket banging against his legs as he ran. Darting through the opening, he flattened himself against the wall before carefully peering back out. From here, the illuminated entryway of the tunnel was easy to make out. Not one, but six equine figures spilled out into the gloomy cavern. Pink, yellow, white, blue, orange, and purple were represented, with even more variations in their hair color. Only two appeared to have wings, but though one was yellow, it had different hair from the mare he'd encountered previously. Most are just ‘normal’ type ponies, then – hopefully they will be inclined to reason, he speculated. Their gear was as varied as the ponies themselves; the white and purple ones were the only members of the group who wore headlamps, though for some reason the lights were colored – magenta and light blue, respectively. Despite the coloration, he found spots dancing in front of his eyes as he squinted against the glare. Those headlamps throw a lot of light, but the way they just shine it in all directions wastes an awful lot of energy. And if it keeps me from seeing much about those two, I imagine it must be pretty annoying for them as well. Whoever designed those things really called it in. Struggling to make out any detail, he could tell that the white one was wearing a scarf, while the orange one wore a cowboy hat, of all things. The four non-pegasi had saddlebags, and all of them except the purple one appeared to be wearing necklaces of some sort. They paused there at the entrance for a moment, clustered together, their voices carrying clearly in the underground hush. Not that he understood any of it, but it sounded like there was some sort of disagreement. The blue one was hovering in midair – how do they do that!? – while pointing down the track and gesturing emphatically, to which the violet and orange ones had their voices raised in reply. To the side, the white and yellow ones were examining something, but he couldn't see what until the yellow one flew up with it in its hooves. My jacket! They must have taken it from the dogs. Meanwhile, the pink one was... staring straight at him. It could have been just looking at the exit, but he had the uncanny feeling that those eyes were locked onto his own. Unnerved, he stepped back behind the reassuring bulk of the rock entryway. Perhaps I've lingered long enough. He began to move rapidly down the tunnel, trying to keep his footfalls light. Behind him, the voices cut off – replaced by rapid hoofbeats. Did they hear me? Crapcrapcrap this is way too soon! I can't meet them yet – I don't have the foals. How can I explain all of this? He swore under his breath and increased his pace. Here the tunnel ran mostly straight and slightly downhill. There wasn't much fallen rock, but running atop the disintegrating track was inherently hazardous. He had to watch his step while trying to put on speed, the spear and basket making it even more awkward. He hadn't run seriously since high school, and even then he'd been terrible. Now he had just started running, and he was already breathing like a bellows. It gave him pause. Trying to sprint down an underground mine shaft. What am I, an idiot? That dog must have a huge lead with the foals. Can I really expect to outrun a bunch of ponies? Running is what ponies do – excepting the ones that fly, of course. His pace faltered as he grimaced. I waited too long. Slowing, he glanced back and saw that he'd only made it a few dozen meters. The hoofbeats echoed louder and louder, and the light brightened, but they hadn't entered the passage yet. Then the he staggered as the floor suddenly lurched and the hoofbeats were swallowed up in the thunderous crash of stone. He whipped his head forward again as he tried to stop. The ground heaved again, harder, with an earsplitting crack and a sudden gust of wind that caught him from behind, hurling him from his already unstable feet. His flashlight skittered away as he fell, arms curling up protectively above his head. The terrible crashing ended mercifully quickly, and there were no more gusts like the first, but the unnerving shaking continued a while longer, each shiver making his heart skip a beat. I should not be down here, he thought darkly. Finally, the tremors began to ebb, and he uncovered his head and opened his eyes. Blessed light! His flashlight had come to rest a body-length away, the beam playing against the side of a rusty rail and diffusing into the dust swirling all around him. Visibility was practically nil, but he hardly cared. His light was still working and hadn't rolled too far – right now that was all that mattered. He crawled over, picking the flashlight up in shaking hands and clutching it tightly. Swaying slightly, he stood up and shone it about. The dusty air picked the beam out in sharp relief, but the tunnel he could see seemed the same otherwise. As the panic passed, his mind slowly settled and he considered the situation once more. I’ve lost yet more time – that much can’t be helped. But what happened? He stared speculatively back the way he’d come. Did the ledge give way? Is that group in trouble? The pegasi should be fine, but what about the others? Perhaps I can demonstrate my good intentions by helping. He turned, picked up the basket, and began retracing his steps. He had not gone far before his half-formed plans were dashed. A portion of the passage ceiling near the entrance had collapsed, almost completely filling it. He could still see a small sliver of blackness at the top, and he thought he might've heard voices, but nothing bigger than a cat would be getting through that barrier now. He eyed the shattered stone critically. The pile looks loose, and none of the pieces I can see are all that big, but there are an awful lot of them, and I’m not sure how stable this tunnel is anymore. On Earth, this would have taken a work crew hours to clear, not to mention hazard pay. Solo? By the time I got through, it'd be over one way or the other. Pointless. He sighed. Well, at least now my course of action is clear – it's up to me to rescue those foals. Plus, I don't have to worry about any more complications – if clearing all those rocks is impractical for me, it'd be downright impossible with just hooves and wings. Decision made, he turned around and pressed forward with redoubled urgency. The passage continued to follow the line of the fissure, mostly straight, but gradually descending. The slight grade was welcome as he pushed himself to keep up the pace. It worked for a time, but trying to maintain speed on a treacherous surface in poor lighting was both physically and mentally draining. Despite his determination, he soon found a stitch developing in his side and his momentum faltered once more. Desk work has not exactly prepared me well for underground footraces, he thought irritably as he leaned up against a fallen chunk of rock, breathing heavily and reaching into his backpack for the water bottle. As his labored breathing eased, another sound gradually became apparent – rushing water. He looked ahead more closely and noticed that the black void ahead was not as completely black as he had thought; a small patch ahead seemed persistently lighter. Turning off his light confirmed it. Have I reached the exit already? he wondered. It doesn’t really make sense, if I’m as far down as I think I am. Maybe I overlooked a narrow gorge from above? Regardless, he set out again, his steps quickening in anticipation as he forged ahead, the light growing as he neared it. Minutes later, he stepped from the end of the passage into another world, but he wasn't outside like he had thought he would be. Rather, the tunnel had broken into another, significantly larger passage, one big enough to hold a double-tracked railroad, and running further than he could tell. He stood at the outside of a bend, with the curving tunnel cutting off his sight in both directions. Instead of a sky, the light poured in from veins of crystal that ran along the walls or thrust from the ceiling. At the bottom a small river busily carved the chamber still deeper; narrow and swift, the torrent leapt and churned in exuberant waves. Above the river, the fantastical crystalline illumination brought to life an unreal landscape. Instead of the raw, broken rock of the previous chamber, this cavern had an array of stone forms where it had flowed and solidified over uncounted millennia. Those below had been scoured and molded to suit the whims of the river, but above clung stalactites, as well as stranger features he had no names for. He'd seen pictures of this sort of thing, but they had hardly prepared him for the real thing. Amidst the welcome change in scenery were a few discordant notes. Some of the formations had fallen – perhaps recently, if the cleanness of the breaks was any indication. Pieces of the resultant rubble looked to have fallen into the river as well, whipping this stretch into even more of a frenzy than he imagined it usually was. As well, though the trackbed crossed the river before turning to run downstream alongside the water, the actual track stopped at his feet, leaving just a gravel pathway stretching out before him. This absence of the tracks was odd, but manageable. More troubling was the absence of the bridge the tracks had used to cross the river. A few stumps of timber jutted from each bank, but that was it, and given the state of this stretch of the river... Too far to jump, too deep to ford, and too rough to swim. But in that case, where did the dog go? His stomach sank at the thought he might have been chasing an assumption, and he worriedly scanned the ground for some sort of clue. To his immense relief, he soon picked out a rough path leading away from the trackbed. It branched off to the right of the track, heading upstream. It wasn't really much of a path, more of a collection of paw prints with delusions of grandeur, but one set of those prints was sharp and well defined. He had never done any tracking before, but he was pretty sure that was a good sign. The path snaked a fairly easy route among the obstacles of the tunnel floor as it paralleled the river. The cavern meandered as well, slowly gaining elevation. He hadn't gone far, though, before he noticed a change in the atmosphere. Though the path was no closer to the stream, the roar of water grew steadily louder as he progressed. Rounding the inside of a corner, his breath caught as he beheld the reason. A rippling curtain of water plunged down from above, the centerpiece of a spectacular room. The cascade itself was a liquid sculpture, dynamically shifting in an endless dance. More than twice his height, the thundering torrent issued from an upper cavern, from where it spilled through a smoothly worn groove in an outthrust ledge, and curved down in a graceful arc until it met the waters below in a roiling froth that wreathed the pool in mist. Evanescent patterns of light shimmered from its dancing surface as it plunged, while smaller flows on the sides splashed from the jutting rocks, adding to the glittering spray. The whole scene was gently lit by massive, glowing crystal veins that burst into the cavern, just a little further down the wall from where he stood. The wall on the far side of the river was covered in crystal as well, but instead of shining spires, these were large, flat plates that did not glow, but instead acted as mirrors and reflected the scene manyfold. The overall effect was breathtaking, and though the chamber was only a little wider than the tunnel leading up to it, it felt much bigger. Away from the waterfall, the plunge pool calmed to where he could see through the pure water to the stones lining the bottom of the pool. Here too, fragments of crystal intermingled with base rock, creating a coruscating effect with the shifting waves that reminded him of looking into a night sky filled with twinkling stars. The pool was framed by solid rock, except for the far side, where a narrow fringe of sand clung to the shore. In the middle of this sparse beach was a spit of sand, with yet another strange creature partially beached atop it. Oh no, not something else weird, he thought despairingly as he staggered to a halt. This one was basically serpentine, with a vibrant purple body that trailed away into the depths of the pool. The portion above the water was also purple, though he could see bright orange tufts peeking around from the far side. Great. Another complication, he groused. Fortunately, it hadn't shown any signs of noticing him so far, and its little patch of sand was conveniently isolated. Focusing on the task at hand, he saw that although the cavern continued above the cascade, the trail took a different route. It crossed the river by diving down to the pool and passing directly behind the waterfall, before climbing up the bank and winding downstream. From here, the route looked both spectacular and perilous. Much as he wanted to linger and take in the spectacle from his current, comfortably safe vantage point, the clock was still ticking. I never saw the dog headed downstream on the far bank, and since the path curves back on itself, that means it must have already made it to the waterfall and back before I arrived at the river. I still have a lot of ground to make up, he thought in concern as he set out once more. He followed the path down to the water, gingerly lowering himself over the slippery rocks, and edging his way beneath the ledge of rock that thrust out from upstream. Here at the water’s edge, the roar of the falls enveloped him, and the wet, slippery rocks made the path treacherous. Focused as he was on his footing, the tip of the spear swung out just a little too far, and a sharp tug caught him off guard as the rushing water clutched at it greedily. Suddenly unbalanced, he reflexively let go of the shaft before it could take him with it. In an instant, the weapon had tumbled away and vanished into the churning pool. He staggered back, reaching a hand out to steady himself against the wall, legs shaking after this latest close call. Breathing heavily, he looked up and realized how far behind the cascade he had already gone. The gentle play of light shone through the fluttering sheet of water as it hung, suspended in space, contrasting sharply with the shadowed thunder at its base. Despite his predicament, the sight took his breath away and, for a moment, he wished he had time to appreciate the view. Instead, he riveted his attention back to the ground and pressed on; here behind the falls, the path demanded nothing less. Around him, the crashing rumble beat into his skull and the rocks themselves seemed to vibrate as the air seethed with mist in the dappled half-light. At times the vapor was thick enough to pool around his legs, shrouding the path, and making him feel like he was falling through the clouds once more as he slowly crept forwards. It seemed to take ages, but he finally made it out from under the ledge, the path widening and mist thinning until he was walking confidently down the narrow beach. Up ahead he could clearly see the figure on the sand, and from this angle, it was more perplexing than ever. The slender purple body still looked basically serpentine, but from here it was obvious that the bright orange tufts he’d seen before were merely the tips of a full head of hair. Said head was pointed away from the pool, making it hard to see from the far bank, and aligning it with one of the larger crystal mirrors. Though it had a strong leonine cast, the face was surprisingly expressive, possibly due to the human-like hair. Large curling locks adorned the top of its head and end of its snout, reminding him of nothing so much as a dapper English gentleman, except that the last third of the facial hair on one side seemed to be... Purple hair! How incredibly fortunate! The creature lay bonelessly on the sand, eyes shut and breathing slowly. He would have said it was impossible to hear anything over the roar of the waterfall, except he thought he could hear a bass rumble in time with its breath. Is it snoring? Movement in the pool caught his eye, and he looked down to see the spear bobbing as the waves slowly washed it up against the sand next to the creature. He found himself torn. It's got purple hair – exactly what I need to copy the filly, and much better than these tassels. With this, the dummies would be just about perfect. Plus, I might be able to retrieve the spear. Either one of those could be critical later on. Of course, they both also rely on catching up to the dog, which in turn depends on not being eaten by an enraged sea serpent with half a mustache. He sighed heavily. I can't believe I'm seriously contemplating doing this, but no risk, no reward. The worst part is that this isn't even the craziest thing that has happened to me so far – just the most hazardous thing I've had any sort of choice in. Still, at the rate things are going, I'm sure I'll have to do something equally hare-brained. His hands clenched and unclenched reflexively as he stared at the ceiling absently. Fine, so this is an incredibly stupid idea, but if I pull it off, it will be invaluable. I'll try it, but the instant things start to go wrong, I'm out of here. Resolved, he carefully crept down the beach to the little spit of sand, the rushing water swallowing up his footsteps. He set down the basket so it wouldn't encumber him, and turned to regard the creature. The face was larger than his torso, but it was utterly relaxed, the eyes closed and ears hanging limp. At this distance, he could clearly make out the delicate pattern of scales, and the supple way they moved with each breath it took. It still showed no sign of being aware of his presence, breathing deeply, and twitching occasionally as it slept. Just pretend it's your brother and the shaving cream again, he thought, stepping forwards. All too soon, he had crossed the narrow beach and reached the head. It exhaled deeply, and he froze and blinked in surprise as the warm air washed over him. Minty breath? Just what does this creature eat? Or do they make dragon-size breath mints? He shifted his weight forward once more, two hesitant steps taking him close enough to touch. From there he turned and sidled nervously alongside its jaw, the water deepening quickly and forcing him to toe the precarious edge. The open strip of sand narrowed quickly, and wavelets were licking at his heels as he finally reached his goal. The shaft of the spear still bobbed just to the side, tantalizingly close. He carefully bent over to retrieve it, breathing an inaudible sigh of relief as he picked it up without incident. He quickly repurposed it as a support, and two careful steps later, he had reached the hair. Unfortunately, the mustache was long enough that the purple section he actually needed was sitting over deeper water, out of reach. I’ll have to cut further down, he realized. It's a waste, but there's no helping it. Supporting the length of hair in one hand, he took out the scissors on his Swiss army knife and began snipping near the midpoint. The hair had an odd, metallic quality, but was still quite fine, and cut easily. In short order, the last strand parted, and he was holding the purple and orange plume of hair. He froze as the creature stirred, but after a couple incoherent murmurs, it subsided. Carefully, he relaxed and began to creep away. With any luck, maybe it won't notice, he thought forlornly. Seeing the reflection in the nearest crystal plate, however, well... The word lopsided seems inadequate. Yeah, I'm not feeling so lucky today, he thought, hurrying his steps while listening intently for any hint of motion behind him. Reaching the bank, he hastily scooped up the basket, scrambled away from the pool, and hustled downstream along the path as quickly as he dared. Only after he had rounded several curves in the tunnel did he feel safe enough to pause and take stock of the situation. The purple hair was a bit darker than he remembered the filly's hair being, but it was close – much better than the tassels, or trying to use the black fur from the dog on both dummies. This purple hair was also silky and incredibly fine, which contrasted oddly with the coarse, almost wiry texture of the orange section, despite the almost seamless transition between the two. It was a pity he could only use a few, thin strands of the orange to approximate the colt’s red streaks; though it was a nice bonus to improve that dummy as well, he had no real use for most of it. Since he had already stopped, he set about redoing the dummies with the new hair. It had been a big risk, but the results might just be worth it – as the cloth bundles were basically featureless, the hair had an outsized impact, and the dummies had much more verisimilitude now. The break also gave him a good opportunity to finally look at the pouch he had taken from the dog when he locked it up. It was made of a rough, sturdy fabric, and small enough to fit in his hands, but it was still noticeably heavy and quite lumpy. Opening the drawstring, he gasped at the contents sparkling in the dim light. Holy crap, these gems must be worth a small fortune! I'm no jeweler, but several look like they would be perfect for an engagement ring, too. It's just too bad there aren't any of the blue ones the dogs seem to be so afraid of... A smile played on his face as he stood up, squared his shoulders, and looked ahead down the trackbed. Okay, I’m making progress, but it's too early to celebrate – there's still a dog to catch. He set out once more, soon encountering the empty bridge location and rejoining the track. Just like the other bank, the rails on this side were missing, though the bed was mostly intact, and the occasional tie remained. The babble of the river gradually soothed his worries, especially compared to the earlier oppressive silence. He wouldn't be able to hear the dog up ahead, but hopefully it wouldn't be able to hear him either. He followed the trackbed at a fast walk, keeping a sharp eye out ahead for any sign of the dog. He hadn't made it far when he felt that something was off. It took him a moment to place the change; a strange howling coming from behind him, followed by a building rumble. He looked back to see a frothing mass of water surging down the river, raising the level abruptly. Alarmed, he scrambled off the track and sprinted away from the river, climbing up the sloping tunnel wall as far as he could. From there he watched the water nervously, but after a few tense moments, the flood seemed to stabilize just below the level of the track, and showed no signs of rising further. I'm lucky I crossed when I did, he thought as he eyed the now-raging torrent. With this much water, that path behind the waterfall must be completely awash. I hope that creature is okay. It looked at home in the water, though and I'm sure the raging water woke it up. It's probably fine, even if it did get washed downstream. Hmm. I might want to keep an eye out for it, though, just in case it does get washed past me. With that thought in mind, he warily watched both river and path as he resumed his trek. He seemed to have gotten his second wind, and he made good time along the trackbed. As he had noticed earlier, this tunnel seemed to stretch on and on, meandering only slightly. The river wove back and forth as well, but it generally hugged the far wall, leaving a broad bank on the right hand side. There were occasional patches of light, and more of the exotic rock formations, but the tunnel was mostly a study of rock, water, and mud. At least the route was generally easy going; the gravel was even and the track sloped gently downhill. It ran on for perhaps half a kilometer like this before he noticed a change up ahead. Here the walls fell away as the passage opened up into a large space, perhaps the size of two or three gymnasiums, dimly lit by a few more crystal veins. The river ran steadily along on his left, while the floor to the right dropped much more quickly, until it reached a flat dirt plain. In the middle, the track path stayed level, atop an earthen embankment that soon began to feel a bit like a dike. Motion next to the path caught his eye – he froze, dousing his light. The movement came again, and this time he made out a shower of earth thrown up from the right of the embankment, just a little ways ahead of him. Something was digging into the bank beneath the path. Listening carefully above the rush of the stream and his own quiet approach, he could hear a familiar guttural voice muttering in the hole below. It’s the dog! But if the dog is down in the hole, where are the foals? He stopped and scanned the chamber more carefully; it ended a little ways ahead, the river disappearing into a much smaller tunnel, barely wide enough to accommodate the current flow. Just before the chamber wall, however, the track path curved to the left and re-crossed the river. The bridge here was also missing, with a section of rapids marking the spot where it should have been. It was there, at the base of the crossing, that he finally saw the basket. Oh, so the river blocked the dog as well? What luck! It might not have drunk from the canteen, but that doesn’t matter anymore – this is my chance! Channeling his inner ninja, he crept down the path, across where the creature labored below. He could barely hear its whuffing exertions, but the grumbling came through clearly and he fancied he could feel the dirt tremble slightly beneath his feet, though that could have easily have been the energy of the river. Barely daring to hope, he snuck away from the dig site, and came up to the basket. Looking back, he saw dirt still streaming from the side of the berm and risked briefly using the flashlight. The sudden flood of relief almost turned his knees to jelly as he saw two little bundles lying in a basket, small tufts of hair poking out and the fabric gently rising and falling with each breath. Shoot, I can’t make the dummies do that. I hope the dog isn't so observant. Asleep and wrapped up like this, they seemed so much smaller than the energetic bundles of mayhem he was accustomed to. He’d planned to quickly exchange his prepared basket for the dog’s, but he realized that the baskets didn’t match as closely as he'd hoped, so he had to swap their contents instead. He moved as quickly as he could, but it still took a few moments to get the blankets right and the dummies' hair to fall correctly. His heart was pounding harder than during his run, but he forced himself not to hurry. After a couple long minutes he finally stood, satisfied with his handiwork. It’s not perfect, but it’s solid – enough to pass a casual inspection, I hope. Time to make good my escape. He scanned the cave, considering his options. Ahead, the river seethed and roiled, with great standing waves and churning waters. That’s where I want to go, but there's no crossing with it like that. Behind was the embankment, where the dog still dug furiously. I could head upstream, but I hate to backtrack, plus I don’t want to risk disturbing the dog by walking over it. Better to keep my distance if I can. Looking around for an alternative, he spotted a large cluster of stalagmites a little ways down the slope that seemed to offer enough concealment. Picking his way down the slope to them, he found himself on the edge of a large, flat plain. It was an odd purplish dirt, crusty, and with clearly defined edges. The surface was largely free of stone, though various pieces of wood lay scattered atop it. Conveniently, a wooden crate lay among the debris nearest the stalagmite. The bottom was embedded a few inches into the ground, but it was easy to shift and proved just big enough to serve as an impromptu seat for him and the basket. He wasn't happy with the basket. The dog had managed the one it had, and he'd put up with his own so far as well, but it kept banging against his leg, and he didn't trust the handle. Time for some judicious repacking. Emptying out the main compartment of his backpack left just enough room for the foals. They barely stirred at the shift to the backpack, which told him a bit of just how out of it they were. With the backpack full, the magazine, first aid kit, and lunchbox were bumped over to the basket. As he was finishing up, he noticed that the tone of the river had changed again. He looked up the slope warily, peeking around the edge of the stalagmite. He couldn't hear anything above the sound of the river, but motion atop the embankment caught his eye. The canid was walking along it, striding until it was standing nearly above him. He held his breath as the dog halted, then exhaled slowly in relief as it merely picked up the basket and continued along until it disappeared out of view. After a few minutes, he hadn't seen any further sign of the dog, and his curiosity got the better of him. He strapped on his backpack, grabbed the spear, and stealthily scaled the bank. He kept a low profile, worming his way up the last few feet, until he had his head level with the trackway and was peering across. He spotted a figure moving on the opposite riverbank – the canid had somehow made it, and was quickly climbing up. As he watched, it deftly scaled the rubble and vanished into the gloom. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Thank goodness, it finally left. He grinned broadly. I got away with it! I almost can't believe it! Now I just need to make it out of here with the foals. Climbing all the way up, he got his first real look at the river crossing. The river still raged violently, but it was running lower now, exposing a series of pilings that jutted from the frothing water like jagged teeth. The dog must have been working to lower the level of the river, he thought, as he eyed the stones with some trepidation. That's still not an easy crossing to make. So that digging changed the water level? he speculated. I should probably check it out – Now that I have the foals, there’s no reason to rush. To the contrary, if I move too fast, I might catch up to the dog again. He walked back upstream along the embankment, and soon got his answer. A sizable volume of water was pouring through a new hole in the embankment, enough to draw down the level of the river on the other side. So that was its plan, he mused. That's an impressive bit of digging – I don't think I'll be able to improve on it. It might grow larger on its own, though. It’s a good thing I didn't choose to hide upstream; I wouldn't want to cross that section now, the way it's being undermined. Then, as he watched, the river suddenly quieted, the volume of water dropping off as it mysteriously reverted to the rowdy brook he had originally seen. The flow of the diversion died away as well – the reduced river level no longer even enough to reach the inlet of the dog's tunnel. He scratched his head, puzzled. That's seriously strange. Did something else happen upstream? he wondered. Still, there's no sense in waiting for it to come back. I may not be comfortable with it, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the– No, just no. That idiom has been forever ruined for me now. Setting his thoughts aside, he hurried back along the path and down the embankment to where he’d left the basket, but he only made it halfway down before he stopped in his tracks, swearing softly. It figures something had to go wrong. I should've considered where all that water would end up. Ahead of him, the dirt plain had been transformed, and was now almost half a meter higher than he remembered. Disconcertingly, even at its new, higher level, the substance had a crusty surface that made it appear dry and solid. As he watched closely, though, he could see the surface shift, with various bits of wood and other light debris swirling and drifting about in a way that showed that it was still quite fluid underneath. Unfortunately, among those swirling, drifting debris was the crate with the basket, which had come loose and now floated several meters away from the shore. Still, the inflow of water had halted, and as he watched, he noted that the level did not rise any further. Unfortunately, it didn’t fall, either, and though the swirling slowed, it did not altogether cease. Instead, the lingering motion gave rise to a new disquiet, setting off senses honed by numerous late-night horror movies and sporadic fridge-cleaning. Could he get his stuff back? He toed the edge of the muck dubiously, pulling back as his boot immediately sank into the purplish gunk. Slippery, sticky, and disturbingly gelatinous mud. He hefted the spear and reached out with it, probing the hidden depths of the pit. About half a meter from the edge, the bottom dropped off almost out of reach. He tried from a couple other angles, quickly finding the same result. He stood back on the edge, massaging his temples absentmindedly. Dammit, I just don't see how I can get the basket back with what I have. I’m not about to wade in there, there’s nothing to float with, building a causeway would take too much time, and I'd need a longer staff or a rope to fish it out. So much for all my gear. Frustrated, he kicked a rock onto the mud, though watching it quickly sink away didn’t help his mood any. He sighed. I got the foals, and that's what counts. At least I'm not in a race anymore. Defeated by the mud, he climbed back up the berm and surveyed the river crossing once more. The water was still low and placid, revealing several more stepping stones than before. He carefully picked his way down to the river and stepped out across the rushing water. The rocks were slippery, but the crossing was a breeze compared to the waterfall, and after a few careful minutes he was scaling the far bank. Cresting the top cautiously, he broke into a smile as his careful scan didn't find any sign of the dog. Of course, he couldn’t see much of anything else, either – just a boring slope of gravel and rock, with the path running up and away from the river before disappearing into shadow. Despite the gloom around him, he found his spirits lifting. Well, that's one set of hurdles cleared. I got the foals, lost the dog and crossed the river. Now I just need to keep the two of them safe while getting out of here and figuring out how to meet the locals on reasonable terms. Piece of cake. Of course this latest bit of running around has doubtlessly put the nail in the coffin of the 'stay in one place' approach. Ah well, no point in dwelling on bygones. Yeah, there's still a lot to overcome, but I've come a long ways already. He stood poised for a moment longer, eyes focused somewhere beyond the enveloping darkness. I just need to keep forging ahead.