Drip... Drip...
'Where am I?' Ash thought as he stirred to consciousness. 'How far did we fall? How long was I out?'
He woke to the sound of water trying to become a heartbeat. 'Count it. Make the cave small. Make the pain smaller.'
Not a river—just a drip fattening on the lip of a stalactite, letting go, and breaking itself on stone. Between each fall there was grit shifting, the slow settling of a wound. 'We fell. The web sang, then the ceiling answered.'
'Water... Agh!'
Every breath tugged along his ribs like a splinter.
Ash held his tongue flat to swallow the cough that wanted out.
'In for three. Hold one. Out for five.'
The count steadied the noise in his head.
He tested movement, sending the signal down each forepaw, pads flexing; then rolled each shoulder. 'I can still move, at least.'
Confirming he could still move, Ash blinked grit from his eyes as he opened them slowly and let the blur resolve.
