He had no idea how far the drop to his immediate left plunged into the oil fields below – the haze clung to the side of the cliff, wrapping him in smoky mist.  He could only creep forward a centimeter at a time.  Centimeter by centimeter.  Closer and closer to the terrifying noise.

          Was it possible to be more lost than lost?  Scales knew that the sulfur falls lay at the northern edge of the borderlands.  If he stayed on course he could use the falls to navigate, but then what?  If he reached the falls, could he turn one hundred and eighty degrees in the sky and stay on course back home?  The uncertainty made his gut cold and tight.  How did he get this far off course? 

      ...

Please subscribe to keep reading.