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Nithel’s arms strained as he lifted the new table. Amit calling for him to be careful as his feet dragged outside toward the cart.

The smooth wood slid onto the carrier, and Nithel sighed while pushing it to the back of the shelf. “To Siebel son of Rate?!” Nithel calls over his shoulder toward the workshop door. Thickly callused hands already clenching the cart’s handles to start the trek.

“Nithel, get in here.” Amit’s tone was hard, gruff.

Nithel’s  chest jumped and he hurried back toward the door. Had he forgotten something? His foot passed back over the threshold and landed on air. His master’s eyes fading from veiw.

He couldn’t breath, his mind swirling. Wind raced along his face, and the tie in his hair flung out, the blond strings slapping his face. There were no smells, then seconds later there was stone, and wet dankness.

His stomach swirled before he hit the ground. It ate him, going through a floor. He clenched his eyes shut, mind racing and aching.

Then he stopped. Oof. The hit hard as he landed on his arm. Pain shooting up to his shoulder. The wind stopped. All was still. Nothing. Only the dripping of water, and his heavy panting. His cheeks red, and sweat dribbling on his temples.

What had happened? What was that? His lips groaned as he rolled over to his back. Forehead wrinkling as he stared at the ceiling. Stones. Many many stones, he flinched, bringing his arms over his face. Jerking his legs up to his chest. Gah! His ears rung, ready for an avalanche.

But they didn’t crush him. There was truly a ceiling made of packed stones. He slowly peaked above his arm, mind confused yet again. He nibbled on his lip and glanced around, brows low.

Two long paths, with walls of rock, going off into eternities in both directions to his Sett and Lift. Torches lining the walls at intervals to keep the world from pitch black.

He pulled in a shaky breath, and swallowed hard. His whole body trembled a moment before he made himself rise.

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@beth20