The echo of stone against stone was no isolated occurrence, but rather the prelude to a shift in the air's density within the cave. The sound was born in the depths of the rock, where the light from Lloyd's fire became a useless suggestion. It was an organic creak that of massive joints awakening from a centuries-long lethargy followed by the dull trail of claws scratching the stone floor.
Lloyd remained seated, his back against the frozen wall. There was no tension in his jaw, but his green eyes sharpened, fixed on the border where the orange of the fire died against the absolute black.
Alice, at his side, needed no summons. Her head tilted a fraction of a millimeter, catching the frequency of the approaching breath.
