His Lordship couldn’t judge time here. After a half hour or an hour or ten minutes, the cries ahead became more distinct, a man’s voice and a woman’s, grunts and a few words: “Here.” “Push.” “I’m trying.”
He saw a mound of stones with a few wooden posts protruding—a collapsed cottage. How could anyone be alive under there?
In a frenzy, His Lordship burrowed in, his hands like shovels, heaving rubble behind him.
Lower on the mountain, a gash—a chasm too broad for His Lordship to leap across—opened in the earth.