Lion Head Mesa a-weema-weh

surya offered no resistance to being moved. he was half-conscious at this point, strength sapped almost entirely. his senses came and went—vision blurring, all sounds like they came from the depths of a cave. he mumbled something that could have been a name, or a protest, but was utterly unintelligible.

then, the stomach-dropping sensation of empty air. wha. . . he murmured, in that split second before he began to fall. and tumble he did, down and down the rocky slope, careening off ledges, pelt and skin ripped on jagged edges, in some parts down to the bone.

there were no screams or cries, no final words, only the chilling noise of a body finding its last impact and rolling onto the prairie grass.

and then no noise at all.