Guardian of the Gate
He climbed slowly, hands slipping on mud made by the moisture that coated the inside of the opening. He had been at it for what seemed days, the distance startling; the darkness unnerving. Odd odors ransacked his sinuses, and he struggled to hold his breath between life-sustaining gasps of air. The metal tips of his black alligator boots provided leverage as they dug into the slimy walls.
Debris fell from above, landing in his hair and eyelashes. He shook his head violently to remove the dirt and devil-only-knew-what-else, only to be replaced by the next wave of rubble pouring down the hole. At least it was dry. His next inhalation brought with it a mouthful of grime. He scraped his tongue against his teeth and spit. Pausing a moment, he hung his head in frustration,
