Too late. Even as her words fell away, so did the ground beneath him, the tufts of grass, chunks of dirt and rock, and clumps of root-infested sod crumbling like a statue made of salt that had been bludgeoned by a hammer.

“Ludo!” she cried, hurrying to the edge of the sinkhole that had opened itself up, peering into the darkness made worse by the dying daylight, the sun having already sunk beneath the nearest hillocks.

She couldn’t see much of anything—certainly not the bottom of the crevasse. “Ludo!” she tried again, but all that came back was the echoing sound of her own voice, filled with fear and desperation. But then—

A muffled sound, a grunt or groan perhaps. Had he broken his legs? Or worse, his back? “I’m coming down!” she hollered, inspecting the sides of the sinkhole. She expected to find them to be ragged and textured, with plenty of clefts and protrusions she could use as hand- and footholds. Instead, they were remarkably smooth, almost like someone had purposely dug this pit and then covered it over as a trap for anyone foolish enough to travel through the Oathlands.

Another indistinguishable sound reached her ears. It sounded almost like a struggle. Was Ludo half-conscious and confused? Was he trying to climb out?

She didn’t wait a second longer, throwing her legs over the side of the pit and digging her toe into the soft earth. She tested her weight, which held, and then reached for a longish root protruding from the dirt wall. Gave it a few hardy yanks, satisfied when it didn’t immediately break free.

Eased the rest of her body into open space.

The root broke free, her foot slipping from its tenuous perch, and then she was falling straight down, legs first, hands grabbing desperately at anything attached to the wall that might arrest her fall. She ripped roots free and collected clumps of dirt under her fingernails, but nothing made a difference, the darkness surrounding her as she entered the sinkhole’s shadowy maw. It was a terrifying few seconds waiting for the inevitable impact but not knowing when it would arrive.

And then it did, much softer than she’d anticipated, like diving into a hayloft, the cushioned but poky dried grass jabbing at her skin and trying to get into her mouth as she swam through it.

Strong arms grabbed her and she shrieked, immediately reaching for a belt that was no longer there—where was her serash? Still, she fought, not with the grace she’d demonstrated for Ludo on that moonslit night, but like a wild animal, clawing and scratching blindly at her invisible attackers. Nothing worked, their grips like iron on her skin, subduing her arms behind her back and tying them tightly.