The descent into the eastern ravine punished every careless movement before they had even reached the lower path.
Liam led from the front, one hand near the stone, one foot never committing until the next hold proved itself. The ravine wall was damp in patches and dry in others, which made the surface unreliable in a way that annoyed him more than obvious danger would have. A ledge that looked solid sometimes crumbled beneath light pressure. A dark seam that appeared slick sometimes held firm.
The smell worsened the lower they went, pressing through the half-masks with a sharp, acidic bite that clung to the throat. Beneath them, the water echoed through the cut stone in strange ways, sometimes sounding directly below and sometimes bouncing back from somewhere behind them, as if the ravine enjoyed lying about distance.
