Yellowhair: An Elf Hollow Prequel

EIGHTEEN | Impulse

CHAPTER 18

Impluse

Qello felt she was falling. All she could think at that moment was, I need you to hear that I love you, Muma! She knew it was done and she surrendered. She was re-living her dream—how she had come to be here in the darkness—

Where am I?

She could hear voices—two women, talking. Black space swirled all around, but she could only anchor to her feeling of falling.

There was nothing she could do to hold on. She felt the log slip from her grasp—the new pain disappearing into some unknown part of her body. She prayed, in abandon, for help from her ropes. I have a harness! The harness could hold, with even a sharp yank, but she fought to see where it was.

Her mind was fuzzy and she wanted control. Yes, it should be caught to a log! Then, Oh, no! She remembered feeling, then seeing the looped over part on the log stuck on a knob of bark. It had stayed a good distance behind her. It had not come along, as she needed. I am too far down. The rope will run short!

She knew this was bad—her cords tied still up near the rock face, all of it bad—hitting the end of the rope tied to her waist, the swing back towards all of the rocks—those jagged teeth bared so wide, waiting on the floor of the gorge. She tightened.

"Grab the rope, Stoney!" Her father griped, his voice coming from nowhere but near to her somehow.

Where is he? No, I must get to Muma. She knew the rope was close, but just couldn't find it.

Then the women's voices were speaking, again! Her arms wouldn't move, no matter how much she wanted them to. She tried to force them.

One woman was saying, "She can't last long without water." And the younger replied, "This time, she doesn't seem to wake up. It was still light the last time."

Qello didn't know who they were or why they were there but they were calling to her to come back. She knew that if she did that, she'd never find Muma and yet the younger of the two voices wanted her to "stay here".

In a flash, the rope jerked tight—ripping the air out of her body and she lost track of how everything went from there. All she could make out was disjointed. It was a mash of sounds and flashing images—rocks, moss, condensation, rope scraping over her face—then looming rocks below and the roar of the river.

She smiled her love to her River.

She hit the side hard, at first with her body, her elbow and then her head took a whack in the back. She clenched her teeth. Now she knew where the rope was.

She clung on, head banging, in hopes the knots wouldn't come loose. It was all she could do. But when she should have found herself starting to dangle, she could feel she was still slipping down.

"I am here." She saw eyes in the dark, but had no time to think. She realized the rope had come loose. Somehow— in its swing back—the guide rope must have ripped her protruding knob off the trunk when her weight hit. She was still falling. It was over.

My life is not meant to be, then.

The whole harness was about to unravel. The end of the rope had loosened enough to slide through. But her mind observed herself, thinking. It was a curious thing.

How could there be such a large cave in the side of the gorge, not spoken to be there—not in warnings or legends?

And then, What warnings and legends do I know anything about?