The painted mirror – part 3

The sides drew in agressively, and the roof dropped to waist-height forcing the boys onto their knees. They clambered past stalagmite fingers, freeing fabric when it became hooked in the tinder-dry rock. And they brushed themselves down though the dust was all around.

When Tim looked at his hands they were unrecognisable to him. In fact, there was little to reassure in the darkened chambers. Their voices echoing onwards took on strange cadences, and the air itself stank.

Above, the torn paper borders of shattered rock adorned the ceiling. They went past boulders that balanced on pebbles so precarious it appeared the slightest movement would cause the weight to come crashing down. For all Tim´s concerns, Robin remained quietly mindful of the danger around them. Maybe there was more to his little brother, thought Tim, than he had given him credit for.

The effort of travelling through the tunnels was great and soon the boys´ breath became ragged like the wind that came in fits and bursts. Yet, they remained oblivious to the toil on their bodies so energised were they both in the pursuit of the unknown.

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