Post by Skipper on Jan 9, 2010 16:06:23 GMT -5
Skipper ran blindly through the tunnels, chasing after Weghul. Hours passed, and he could still hear the sounds of the rat's footsteps echoing throughout the tunnels, but he couldn't see a thing. He found himself tripping over stones and shoring, crashing into walls, and the like. By the sound of it, the rat was having just as much trouble.
Suddenly, the footsteps stopped. Skipper slowed to a halt, chest heaving as his body tried to taking in as much oxygen as it could, which was difficult, as much dirt and other unknown factors contaminating the air as there was. He listened intently for any other noise. None came. The burly otter hurried in the direction Weghul had gone, feeling for objects ahead of him with his walking stick. The staff struck something solid, the resulting sound mimicking wood striking wood. He walked forward a bit, feeling the object. A ladder?
Skipper looked up, seeing nothing, as should be expected. Perhaps. . . He swung his staff up over his head, hoping to strike something, preferably the rat, hanging onto the higher rungs of the ladder. Surprisingly, he struck nothing, and the walking staff simply swung in a wide arc, coming to rest at the wall to Skip's right side.
Experimentally, he tested the rungs of the ladder. Wood creaked below his full weight as he placed a single footpaw on the first rung. That didn't sound very safe. . . Well, if the rat could do it. . .
Skipper made his way slowly, and carefully up the ladder. Twenty seven widely-spaced rungs later, he struck his head on what he assumed was the tunnel's ceiling. Well, if there was some sort of exit here, this certainly wasn't it. He put a paw out in front of him, feeling nothing but air. . . clean air. . .
The big otter leaned away from the ladder, finding that another floor had been built at the level of his footpaws. He swung around, and gingerly stepped onto the new floor. It supported his weight, but that wasn't what surprised him. Skip was more startled by the grass. This was the exit. As soon as he was safely standing on the new floor (the ladder provided too little support for comfort), he made his way cautiously down the tunnel. Two minutes of walking through the increasingly grassy tunnel passed before Skip walked into something that his staff was unable to detect. Some kind of vegetation grew from the ceiling, creating a type of veil or curtain, and it provided too little resistance for his staff to -- Ach, Ah'm out.
Skip squinted as the moonlight struck his eyes. Even light as soft as that of night seemed bright to him. Finally, he could track Weghul properly. He examined the soft ground at his feet, finding pawprints leading to the south. Looking over his shoulder at the fallen Redwall Abbey, lying to the north, he could see why the rat chose to go south.
He continued following the footpawprints, wondering to himself what had become of Barr, Blake, and the other remaining abbeydwellers. . .
Suddenly, the footsteps stopped. Skipper slowed to a halt, chest heaving as his body tried to taking in as much oxygen as it could, which was difficult, as much dirt and other unknown factors contaminating the air as there was. He listened intently for any other noise. None came. The burly otter hurried in the direction Weghul had gone, feeling for objects ahead of him with his walking stick. The staff struck something solid, the resulting sound mimicking wood striking wood. He walked forward a bit, feeling the object. A ladder?
Skipper looked up, seeing nothing, as should be expected. Perhaps. . . He swung his staff up over his head, hoping to strike something, preferably the rat, hanging onto the higher rungs of the ladder. Surprisingly, he struck nothing, and the walking staff simply swung in a wide arc, coming to rest at the wall to Skip's right side.
Experimentally, he tested the rungs of the ladder. Wood creaked below his full weight as he placed a single footpaw on the first rung. That didn't sound very safe. . . Well, if the rat could do it. . .
Skipper made his way slowly, and carefully up the ladder. Twenty seven widely-spaced rungs later, he struck his head on what he assumed was the tunnel's ceiling. Well, if there was some sort of exit here, this certainly wasn't it. He put a paw out in front of him, feeling nothing but air. . . clean air. . .
The big otter leaned away from the ladder, finding that another floor had been built at the level of his footpaws. He swung around, and gingerly stepped onto the new floor. It supported his weight, but that wasn't what surprised him. Skip was more startled by the grass. This was the exit. As soon as he was safely standing on the new floor (the ladder provided too little support for comfort), he made his way cautiously down the tunnel. Two minutes of walking through the increasingly grassy tunnel passed before Skip walked into something that his staff was unable to detect. Some kind of vegetation grew from the ceiling, creating a type of veil or curtain, and it provided too little resistance for his staff to -- Ach, Ah'm out.
Skip squinted as the moonlight struck his eyes. Even light as soft as that of night seemed bright to him. Finally, he could track Weghul properly. He examined the soft ground at his feet, finding pawprints leading to the south. Looking over his shoulder at the fallen Redwall Abbey, lying to the north, he could see why the rat chose to go south.
He continued following the footpawprints, wondering to himself what had become of Barr, Blake, and the other remaining abbeydwellers. . .
