Path of the Gale

Snap. The hemp rope shredded against the jagged limestone lip. Fiber by fiber, the braid unraveled under the dead weight of the climb. Silas lunged, fingers clawing into the cold, grit-choked crevice. His nails tore, anchoring into frozen earth. Below him, the leather satchel swayed over the abyss, suspended by a single, fraying cord that danced in the updraft. «... Damn it. Not now. Not after everything.» Tick. A bead of cold sweat broke from his hairline, plummeting into the lightless void without a sound. CRACK! A boulder the size of a skull sheared off the upper ledge. It whistled past Silas’s left ear, missing him by inches before shattering against the cliff face. Shards of flint peppered his cheek. Warm, copper-scented blood began to seep into his stubble. WHOOOSH. The Gale wind howled, a sudden, violent fist of air that slammed salt-crusted dust into his eyes. Stinging. Blinding. «... Breathe. Focus. The bicep is going to blow. Hold.» Silas heaved his frame upward. His back muscles knotted, screaming under the uneven load. Crunch. His right boot found a ledge no wider than a palm. The stone groaned. It shifted. “Silas! Jump! Don’t look down!” Kora’s voice c…