The fall was not endless — though in the moment, Aric thought it might be.
The wind tore at him, pulling the air from his lungs, until the darkness below became a shape — a vast, pulsating surface, alive and moving.
He hit it hard, the breath exploding from his chest, but instead of stone, his body sank into something soft, fibrous, and warm. It was like landing on a mattress made of roots.
Aric scrambled to his knees.
The “ground” was alive. Thick, corded roots twisted under him, slithering in slow, purposeful motions. They shifted like a living skin, carrying him along as if he were being moved on a conveyor belt.
Above, the bridge was lost in shadow. The girl was nowhere to be seen. He was alone.
A low, rhythmic sound pulsed through the air — a slow heartbeat that was not his own.
