The First Pitfall: Unforgiving, Giving Ground
No one saw it coming, for not even a Ranger's keen eye could detect a trap so carefully concealed. And so danger uncovered itself after half a day's march. The mat of woven reeds and grasses packed and hidden underneath a cover of mud, twigs, and stones crumbled like a soft indrawing of breath into a stagnant, yawning mouth.
Estelarion, Poppy, and Volondil fell in before they knew what was happening to them. Alearindu's horse, Mornen, stumbled after, head and forelegs dangling down into the hole, the rest of the horse kicking and flailing above ground as muted neighs rose plaintive in the afternoon.
Estelarion, by virtue of his being a nimble Elf whom fortune had smiled on, fell onto straw-covered dirt. He brushed the dirt off himself to find purplish bruises on his arms and legs, and a sprained left wrist.
Poppy, though being a hardier Hobbit lass than her friendly shyness showed, was sorely hurt. She brushed against a pointy spike of iron that opened a deep gash in her leg. With a startled gasping cry, she fell unconscious.
Volondil too plunged downward onto a rough-edged spike laid at an odd angle. The iron scraped into his side like a sword, drawing blood.
After the shock of the event, the pit was observed to be 15 feet deep, and on the surface, 5 feet long by 5 feet wide.
There were calls of "Anyone have a rope ready to hand?"
[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]
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