Troy Osgood

“Hall had never thought of himself as claustrophobic but as the tunnel narrowed, the walls and ceiling closing in, he fought down the panic. His breathing became ragged, finding it harder to catch a breath. Ahead was darkness, no ambient light to see anything by. He had to trust in Ulysses, which was hard. Bit by bit, he crawled, the floor starting to slope up. Slide the spear forward, crawl along the shaft until he got to the tip and slide it forward again. Repeating the process over and over. The slope got steeper, the floor of the tunnel littered with loose rocks. How long is this tunnel? he thought. His knees were aching, his shoulders hurting. He kept pushing, cursing with each shift of the spear. He could hear the others behind him. The scratching of Leigh and Sabine’s staves against the floor. The screech of Jackoby’s shield as it caught against the ceiling. The scrap of Roxhard’s axe as he pushed it ahead of himself. All echoed loud in the tight space.”
― Troy Osgood, Silver Peak