England, West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
Unknown place - Somewhere in the forest
5 November 1898, 10:38 pm

The dark maw of a good shaft opened up beneath him. His ears strained uneasily, panic pounded his heart, and froze. For down there in the pitch-black waters, on which not a single gleam of the moon was reflected, he saw in the reflection the gleam of glowing eyes in a black figure with a red, flaming plume directly behind him.

Too quickly it happened as he toppled forward. The impact was as powerful as if a bull had rammed into him at a full run. His body hit the narrow edge of the well, dull pain rippled through his body, the world spun and his thoughts flashed. A yelp and a squeak escaped his throat. Then his body broke through the surface of the brackish water and the cold wet swallowed him. Ice-cold water collapsed on him, instantly weighing down his whole body and making his fur as heavy as lead. Kyle gasped and tried to paddle his paws out of pure instinct in his first moment of sheer panic.

"The wolf is dead! The wolf is dead!" a shrill, childish chant sounded from above. Loud, sadistic laughter rolled down into the well and Kyle wanted to scream in anger. The spell shattered like shattering glass and heat from anger, not just from the spell, surged through his veins. Bones cracked noisily. The sound echoed off the walls of the well like a ghastly melody and his body sank back below the surface for a moment because of the lack of swimming.

The dirty, stagnant water burned his eyes. Seaweed and a few leaves caught on his body and he tasted disgusting filth in his mouth. Disgusted by the sour, musty taste, he spat out coughing, then the mage reached out and grabbed the rough stones that lined the edge of the well. But even so, he found little to no grip, the edge was too slippery with moss growth and algae. Kyle's chest heaved and heaved, his heart pounded wildly and the cold of the water bit nastily into his muscles. The dirt burned hideously in the wounds left by the damned ravens and now, the voice again, Kyle let out a roar of rage. 

Wet strands of black hair hung in his face. Small brown rivulets ran rippling past him back into the churned surface of the well. Kyle searched his mind for the next spell so he could get out of this hole quickly to show that mangy bastard up there WHAT a mage like him was capable of... When a snap sounded at the top of the well. It dropped down into the well and echoed off the walls there, like an iron coin and sounding just as edgy and iron.

"Enough games, wizard." The voice that drifted down to him in the shaft was so nauseating that he felt retching just from the coloring of the sound. It had an unpolished tone and immediately reminded him of a piece of black coal. Smoky and uneven, capable of shining for a moment when presented in the right light but otherwise black through and through. Kyle felt his heart spasm, and stutter once more, and the black mage's effect on him robbed him of breath. Gritting his teeth, he tried to push it aside and fight it off.

"Go to hell you fucking bastard!" blared Kyle up from inside the narrow shaft, his fingers digging around the rough shape of a flat rock at the edge of the well. But because of his gloves, he slipped even more easily, drawing streaks in the muddy green. Then, all at once, he could say nothing at all.

As if someone had pushed his head under the water, a massive force jerked him under the surface. Startled, he gasped, swallowed some water, and let out a startled cry out of reflex. Bubbles large and small trundled wildly up through the murky waters. He lost precious air from his lungs before his mind rolled on and he pressed his lips tightly together.

Kyle tried to comprehend what was happening. His coat was suddenly heavy as lead, the fabric pulling him mercilessly into the depths of the well. He tried to hold on somewhere and somehow. But with the leather gloves and the slippery stone, he had no chance.

So he sank like a stone, deeper and deeper. Just when he thought the water was cold above him, he was now increasingly gripped by a biting, bitter cold. It made his muscles spasm, stiffen and burn like fire under hot needles even without his magic.

Kyle felt his way down, following the pull on his body, and felt hard bulges under the fabric. Heavy chunks of hard rock everywhere! On his chest, in his inner and outer pockets! In each of his secret hiding places where he usually concealed the paraphernalia of his spells in his tailored coats and suits. Almost as if every object he carried had turned into a damned stone. The weight pulled him down, tore at him, and left him no chance with however much resisting, kicking, and desperate paddling. His first thought, of course, was to remove the weight. But he couldn't reach into the pockets and remove the weight that was dragging him down - because there were no more openings that would have allowed him to do so!

Kyle sank and sank. A freezing thought wondered how deep this damn hole could possibly be. The pressure of the water shut out the sound, leaving only bottomless darkness around him. Then, abruptly, he reached the bottom of the well. It was muddy and his body as well as his resistance stirred up the mire in the dirty water even more.

Kyle's eyes hurt like hell, so he had to blink convulsively against them. Still, he forced himself to keep them open. The sheer will to survive rushed through his veins with adrenaline. Above him, only a small patch of light was visible, but it seemed infinitely far away. Red flickers shone up there above the brown waters where the bubbles of his air rose and Kyle thought that filthy bastard was standing up there watching him drown miserably like a mangy cat down here. But then that goddamn flicker disappeared. He wasn't even worth assuring himself of his death! The blood rushed in his ears and with a tiny lucid thought flashing between panic, he vowed to kill that bastard with his own hands when he got out of there!

Kyle squinted his eyes, blinking again through the dirt-strewn waters. He recognized nothing in the darkness down here. Half crouching, he groped to his chest. Take it off! He had to get rid of the coat! Kyle's fingers went to his button placket, wanting to peel the coat, filled with the devastating chunks of stone, from his body. Then he could go back up and the cursed thing had to stay down here at the bottom of the well despite its materials!

But this hope, too, was shattered. Kyle's thoughts ran blank for a second in disbelief. Despair washed inexorably into his mind like a tidal wave that tore down an already rotten dam and poured into the valley to sweep everything away. There was nothing that could be opened! No silver buttons, not even the slit of the two halves of the coat or even a seam. As if the coat had melted into a second skin.

Now all thoughts were wiped away and nothing permanent remained. Sheer panic filled the magician, his fingers gripped the solid woolen fabric, pulling and tugging. Now his fingers let go of the wand too, for no capacity of his mind thought anymore of gaining an advantage in battle. The wand trundled down, the metal pulling it into the boggy ground like an anchor. Kyle could only think of the need for air. Breathe. His lungs burned and squeezed, and his need to open his mouth and gasp for oxygen made him dizzy. He could only grasp stumblingly at one thought: To survive and to get rid of this coat! No matter how!

But tearing wet fabric was already next to impossible under normal circumstances. Kyle had never been the strongest. Underwater, where the body lost so much of its strength, he didn't stand a chance. His muscles were already shaking, his fingers kept slipping off the wet fabric. Kyle tugged his gloves off his quivering fingers, hoping to get more grip. In vain. The cold and the exertion made it harder for him.

His chest became tighter and tighter, the air less. He wanted to catch his breath. He simply could not take any more. With his chest heaving, he opened his mouth before he understood what he was doing. Water washed into his mouth, he wanted to cough, to spit out that disgusting taste- but he got even more water into his lungs. The world around him began to blur and he tore more violently at the damned coat. His fingertips were burning from the cold, they were stiff. He tugged and tugged and still couldn't get the fabric away from him. He failed to muster enough strength.

Kyle could hardly think straight. His whole body was shaking. From cold, from panic, from the fear of dying. He squirmed, tore at the coat, and kicked. He screamed. Water pressed down his throat. Water, everywhere. In his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Black, flickering dots were already dancing before his eyes and the tunnel tightened.


Let go and I'll save us.