Round 882

The fast-moving underground river suddenly changes direction, its churning surface now flowing directly toward the narrow ledge where Merrin and Varikka cling precariously. The water's edge creeps closer with alarming speed, lapping at the stone mere feet away. Merrin feels her heart rate spike as she watches the hungry current approach. She tightens her grip on Varikka, muscles corded with tension.

"Varikka!" she hisses urgently. "The water—it's coming this way!"

The dwarf woman shifts her weight, trying to see past Merrin's shoulder. "By the beard of my ancestors," she mutters, face paling visibly in the torchlight.* "How long do we have?"

Merrin tears her eyes away from the approaching flood and scans their surroundings desperately. The ledge narrows ahead, disappearing around a jagged outcropping of rock. Behind them, the path is blocked by a fresh cave-in—boulders and debris piled high and unstable. She does a quick calculation in her head, factoring in Varikka's injured ankle and the treacherous footing.

"Maybe thirty seconds before it reaches us," she estimates grimly. "We need to move. Now."

Varikka nods, jaw set with determination despite the pain that flickers across her features. "Then help me up," she grunts, reaching for Merrin's shoulder with her good hand. The halfling woman braces herself, then heaves upward with all her strength. Varikka stifles a cry as her injured foot touches down, but manages to get some weight on it.*

"Go!" Merrin shouts, already moving past her toward the outcropping. She half-runs, half-stumbles over the slippery stone, one hand outstretched for balance. The water is almost upon them now, its roar growing louder with every passing second.*