RocEter wrote:Foerde
Foerde lights a torch and proceeds into the pit.
THE PIT
.
Foerde can climb down because someone has left deep tool marks in the side walls, almost a stairway cut in a tightening spiral.
He has to drop his torch, hang from the rock, and fall a few feet to get to the very bottom.
At the bottom weak light he may look up to see light filtering down the hole above.
Thrusting his torch out, he takes stock of his new surroundings.
He stands in the shallow end of a wide but low ceilinged cavern. The far end, maybe fifty feet off, lies in semi darkness. The scent of decaying meat hangs in the still, dank air.
Feeling and looking closely along the wall, he finds more tool marks.
Searching the floor, he spots a bronze-headed pick.
The handle is a bit slimy, but it feels solid.
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.
-from Moby Dick (Hermann Melville)