Once upon a time, before the official addition of DownTown, this had been the external wall of Faircrest.� It was built specifically to keep folk out, so it wasn�t an easy climb.� Despite the rain-slicked stone, the darkness and my injury, I made steady progress.� I tried not to depend on the rope, but some wall sections offered little I could use as foot or hand holds and on occasion I was forced to rely on the support of the rope.� Given that I didn�t know how well it was attached, I was nervous about my options.� Steve�s climbing gear didn�t come with any sort of harness, or anything to attach a rope to, so I was forced to climb with part of the rope wrapped around me.� Certainly not best practice, but better than the alternative of an unslowed fall to the ground below.� If it could bend a dagger, then I really didn�t want to imagine what it might do to my skull.
Climbing is as much mental as anything.� Don�t think about the rain.� Don�t think about the fall.� Don�t worry about Gertrude.� One thing at a time.� Don�t look down.
Would you believe it?� I looked down.� The ground was obscured by the weather, which was equally reassuring and terrifying.� �Just keep climbing� I told myself.
It was going well until I trusted my weight to a stone that turned out to be half destroyed by weather.� My foot slipped and I would have fallen if not for my grip on a higher stone.� The stone that I�d dislodged span into the darkness below and was quickly lost in the murk and mist.� I didn�t hear it land.
As quickly as I could, hanging by one hand, I transferred some of my weight to the rope and scrabbled to find some footing.� Ironically, the hole in the wall that I�d just created by snapping the stone off was a great toe-hold.� I was able to rest for a moment and try to work out the tension in my shoulder caused by hanging from that one arm.� Much as I could use a good long rest, I couldn�t afford to stop for long.� Muscles crying in protest, and my fingers starting to lose feeling, I set off