The Future Is Unknown to Him, Hope Is Not
Behind him, the mountain gave way. A deep rumble, a blow, then dust that took his breath away. When it grew quiet again, a wall of rock and clay lay behind the wanderer. The valley he had come from – the familiar, the beautiful, the known – was buried. The way back no longer existed. He stood in the old tunnel. It was cold. Under his boots lay sharp rubble that the collapse had broken from the ceiling. Above him, in the unseen vault, there was rustling and squeaking. Bats, startled from their sleep, shot closely past his face through the darkness. ...