Crouching, trying to duck his head between his shoulders, Bart got his
arms under Ringg's armpits and half-carried, half-dragged him under the
lee of the cliffs. He slipped and slid on the thickening layer of ice
underfoot, lost his footing, and came down, hard, one arm twisted
between himself and the cliff. He cried out in pain, uncontrollably, and
let Ringg slip from his grasp. The Lhari boy lay like the dead.
Bart bent over him, breathing hard, trying to get his breath back. The
hail was still pelting down, showing no signs of lessening. About five
feet away, one of the dark gaps in the cliff showed wide and menacing,
but at least, Bart thought, the hail couldn't come in there. He stooped
and got hold of Ringg again. A pain like fire went through the wrist he
had smashed against the rock. He set his teeth, wondering if it had
broken. The effort made him see stars, but he managed somehow to hoist
Ringg up again and haul him through the pelting hail toward the yawning
gap. It darkened around them, and, blessedly, the battering, bruising
hail could not reach them. Only an occasional light splinter of ice blew
with the bitter wind into the mouth of the cave.
Bart laid Ringg down on the floor, under the shelter of the rock
ceiling. He knelt beside him, and spoke his name, but Ringg just moaned.
His forehead was covered with blood.
Bart took one of the paper napkins from the lunch sack and carefully
wiped some of it away. His stomach turned at the deep, ugly cut, which
immediately started oozing fresh blood. He pressed the edges of the cut
together with the napkin, wondering helplessly how much blood Ringg
could lose without danger, and if he had concussion. If he tried to go
back to the ship and fetch the medic for Ringg, he'd be struck by hail
himself. From where he stood, it seemed that the hailstones were getting
bigger by the minute.
Ringg moaned, but when Bart knelt beside him again he did not answer.
Bart could hear only the rushing of wind, the noise of the splattering
hail and a sound of water somewhere--or was that a rustle of scales, a
dragging of strange feet? He looked through the darkness into the
depths of the cave, his hand on his shock-beam. He was afraid to turn
his back on it.
This is nonsense, he told himself firmly, I'll just walk back there
and see what there is.
At his belt he had the small flashlamp, excessively bright, that was,
like the energon-beam shocker, a part of regulation equipment. He took
it out, shining it on the back wall of the cave; then drew a long breath
of startlement and for a moment forgot Ringg and his own pain.