The creatures' cries faded into the depths of the caves until they vanished completely, leaving only the monotonous drip of water. Exhaustion hit Finn all at once—the adrenaline had drained away, leaving a leaden weight in every muscle. He slid his soaked backpack under his head and hugged the tulwar, still radiating its soft golden glow, to his chest as if seeking protection in it.
His consciousness slowly drifted away to the lulling rhythm of the falling drops. Finn didn't even notice when his fingers slipped from the hilt to the blade itself as sleep finally overtook him. The tulwar kept glowing, guarding its master's rest in this stone shelter.
Waking came gradually, like surfacing from a deep pool. The first sensation was thirst—his throat was so dry that every breath scraped it raw. Then came pain—several shallow cuts on his hands where he had clutched the sword's edge in his sleep. The wounds had already healed, leaving only faint pink traces—apparently, a good deal of time had passed.
Finn slowly crawled toward the small hollow where water collected from the falling drops. The water was crystal clear and biting cold. He drank greedily, scooping it up with his hands, feeling the life-giving moisture restore strength to his worn-out body.
Once his thirst was quenched, Finn became fully aware of the weight of his predicament. The small cave pocket that had served as his refuge now felt like a trap. The only way out led through the narrow crack beyond which the hunchbacked creatures roamed. The thought of being shut in here like a mouse in a burrow made his heart tighten.
He leaned against the cold wall, gripping the tulwar tighter, its golden glow the only source of light and warmth in this stone prison. Time lost its meaning—Finn would drift into uneasy sleep only to wake at the sound of dripping water or the distant echoes of the creatures' growls.
The water from the ceiling crack kept his thirst at bay, but his stomach twisted harder with hunger each time he awoke. The emptiness inside became more and more unbearable. Finn tried to distract himself by counting the drops, but the insistent growling in his belly always returned.
Another cramp seized his gut, and he curled up, trying to make the pain less sharp.
The tulwar's glow cast strange shadows on the walls, creating the illusion of movement. Sometimes Finn thought he saw in them the shapes of people, animals, or things entirely unfamiliar. Maybe it was just hunger distorting his mind, or maybe it was some property of the sword playing tricks on him.
From time to time, sounds reached him from deeper in the caves—the distant echo of the creatures' growls, the rustle of falling stones, strange vibrations running through the rock. Each noise made him flinch and tighten his grip on the sword's hilt, though he knew they couldn't get through the narrow crack.
Hunger grew more and more demanding. Finn tried sleeping as much as possible, hoping the feeling would bother him less in dreams, but even there, visions of food haunted him—juicy fruit, fresh bread, roasted meat. He would wake with the emptiness gnawing at him even worse.
Half-dozing, Finn suddenly remembered the sack of trophies. With hands trembling from weakness, he unbuckled the backpack and pulled out the foul-smelling bundle. Unwrapping it, he recoiled—a wave of stench hit him so hard he forgot his hunger for a moment.
In the tulwar's dim light, he examined the contents. Dozens of ears of various sizes and shapes lay before him—pale human ears, fur-covered animal ones, and some strange, deformed things with ridges and growths. Some were tiny, like those of mice; others were as big as his palm. Some were covered in coarse hair, others in scales, and still others were bare, their veins showing through thin skin.
Hunger smothered his disgust, and Finn began sorting through them, looking for the least repulsive. He settled on a relatively small ear covered in short gray fur—it at least faintly resembled that of a rabbit, though the shape was entirely different.
Lifting the trophy to his mouth, he froze for a heartbeat to gather his resolve. The first bite brought such a wave of nausea that he almost dropped it. His stomach clenched painfully, but there was nothing to bring up—he hadn't eaten in too long. Forcing himself, he chewed and swallowed the tough piece.
Each bite after that came a little easier, though the taste was unbearable—a mix of rotten meat and something metallic. Finn chewed slowly, breathing through his mouth to avoid the smell. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he kept eating, knowing it was his only chance to survive.
When the last piece was gone, he quickly tied the sack shut and stuffed it back into his pack. His stomach still churned, but the cramps had stopped. He took several gulps of cold water to wash away the foul taste and leaned back against the wall, feeling strength slowly trickle back into his body.
This time, when Finn drifted into sleep, it was deeper and calmer than before. His consciousness slipped away, dissolving in the tulwar's golden light. Reality grew hazy—the sound of water drops became a distant melody, the cave walls blurred into the shadows. His mind floated on the border between waking and dreams until it finally sank into the realm of visions, where ancient symbols danced in the golden glow and time itself lost all meaning.