After several narrow misses, Kalus realized that his
only hope was to delve deeper into the ever-increasing darkness of the
cave. His eyes not yet accustomed to the failing light he moved
cautiously, not wishing to exchange the present danger for that of a
blind fall. Feeling his way slowly along the grainy, lichen-covered
walls, he tried to be certain of each advancing step.
But in spite of all his caution he slipped, and found himself plummeting
downward through illusory darkness, a silent scream ringing in his ears.
Seconds later he landed abruptly. His last thoughts before losing
consciousness were that something must have broken his fall. For he had
dropped a considerable distance through the blackness of an underground
shaft, and knew that by all reason he should have been killed.
*
Hours passed, as the Mantooth's subconscious struggled to keep him
alive. A severe blow to the back of the head had brought him to the
point of death, and only sheer desire and a tireless will to survive
could save him now. Such was a daily occurrence in the
Valley---nature's way of separating the weak from the strong.
But Kalus had always lived up to such trials in the past, and this was
to be no exception. Fighting his way back to consciousness, he opened
his eyes to find himself lying on his back in a bed of cool moss covered
with furs, his wounds being treated by the soothing hands of a
woman-child.
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