CHAPTER 3 – The Ravine

I woke up without knowing how much time had passed.

My back was burning, as if someone had lit a fire inside me. My head throbbed with a slow, heavy pulse. The air smelled of dampness, wet earth, crushed plants.

I was cold.
Afraid.

I could hear distant voices, above.

—Are you okay?
—Stay there.
—Don’t move.

I tried to move my legs.

Nothing.

I couldn’t clearly feel the ground, but I knew I was lying somewhere deep. The darkness was so thick it seemed to have weight. I couldn’t make out shapes—only black stains on black.

Then I saw the lights.

Above, between the trees, flashlights were moving. Small circles of light advancing slowly, illuminating fragments of the ravine. The voices came with them, rising and falling, bouncing between the branches.

I understood something with uncomfortable clarity: if I stayed there, they weren’t going to reach me.

I had to move.

Not later.
Not when it was possible.
Now.

I tried to sit up. My body didn’t respond.

So I did the only thing I could do.

I started to crawl.

I didn’t know where. I didn’t know if I was going up or down. I just moved. But not calmly—clumsily, desperately. As if my body knew something my mind hadn’t yet understood. As if staying still meant disappearing.

I moved my arms again and again without thinking, pulling the wet earth with everything I had. My hands sank into the mud. My nails scraped stones and roots. The pain in my back flared with every attempt, but I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

As I crawled, the flashlights kept moving above. But they weren’t getting closer.

They were moving away.

The lights grew smaller.
The voices weaker.

That made me hurry.

Note: this is an excerpt. I’ll publish other parts of the chapter later.