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