Entry 4

There has been a while since I last wrote, these last few days have thankfully been rather uneventfull. I feel as if my eyes are slowly apadting to this darkness, my bruises have started going down and even my leg feels better. No doubt thanks to Saviour´s strange concoction and our meager yet steady diet of fish and sometimes roots.

There is no question in my mind that I would not have survived without her.

I have become quite proficient in crawling my way around our little cave, from the little nook were I spent most of my time to the entrance which hade become like a window the the "outside", to the corner where I answered nature´s call. To fearful to make my way out of the cave and find another spot. For a moment I enertained the thought of following Saviour to see where she did it, however I quickly came to my senses and realised that spying on a woman doing her business is not something a gentleman such as I would ever do.

Luckily some of the moss have started growing in that corner, giving of a slight odour of wet dirt which is preferable to the alternative.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

While sitting by the entrance waiting for Saviour, like some newlywed housewife wating for her housband, I have been able to discern that the beating of wings I heard before belongs to a species of cave dwelling bats, their gray and black pelted form almost impossible to distinguish in the dark of the grotto, yet still I watch them fly back and forth to the lake and back to their cave with freshly catched fish.

The bats where, like everything in this blasted cave, uncanny in their apperance. Their size was huge compared to others in the Chiroptera family, easily reaching past my waist and with a wingspan that could fit 1 man´s whole lenght on each wing. Big black eyes, like pearls made of onyx, adorned their gray furred heads, 2 big naked ears with the nose looking like a third one completed their visage.

Yet the strangest thing is the silence, not a sound but for the beating of wings, no chittering nor squeaking can be heard from the cave that is just a dozen meter above me. It unnerves me to no end the stillness and refusal from anything in this cave to make a noise. The only comparison I can make is to a library were you are not allowed to talk or the old lady by the counter will reprimand you.

But that begs the question: who or what is the authority that gives you the proverbial slap on the wrist?

I shall ponder later, Saviour has comeback with a meal and todays daily dose of herbial medicine, and hopefully not meet the answer.

Victor Rhodes 1952 ??/??