Edric, who had always believed that the earth itself owed him a gentler road than other men, backed away from the beast and stumbled upon the crumbling stones of the courtyard. He cried out to the departing company. He named their leaving betrayal. He named their wisdom abandonment. He named his own panic as proof that the world had always been against him.
Then the ground beneath Caer Hollow, long weakened by old fire and older ruin, gave way.
The earth opened its patient mouth.
Not quickly, he would have no be given mercy.Β
Not violently, there would be nothing that dramatic.Β
It simply loosened beneath him, stone by stone, as it does beneath all who spend their lives refusing to stand on anything solid.
Edric clawed at the ledge, cursing fate. βThis isnβt fair!β
He wept that no one had ever helped him.
He swore that if spared, he would be different.
He blamed his parents, the weather, his
enemies, his friends, his bad luck, his hard childhood, his misunderstood heart, his sensitive nature, the timing, the pressure, the expectations, the dragon, the road, the kingdom, the gods.
Everything, in fact, but the pair of hands attached to his own wrists.
And so the earth, which has little use for speeches, took him.
Not because he lacked strength.
Because he had spent it all wrestling responsibility away from himself and flinging it at the feet of others, hoping one day they would carry him all the way to a crown.
