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Rôg flew to the blocked exit and crawled about on the large stones that now filled it. Taking wing once again, he flew back to Luindal, landing softly on his shoulder. ‘I think I can find a way out. It may take some time, but there are small cracks where the edges of the rocks don’t meet. Bat’s can squeeze through some very narrow passages. I’ll get out and fly to the ship for help.’
Luindal brought a torch near the avalanche of boulders and inspected the face of it. He cast a skeptical eye at the bat. ‘Small as you are, these crevices look even smaller.’
‘What else is there to do, my friend?’ returned Rôg. ‘The tide is coming in . . . even now it has crept through the lower crevices in the piled rocks and licks at the soles of your boots. The sea is relentless; you know that well. It will inch in further and higher as the hours wear on. Men and Elves will be picked up and tossed about as it flows in and retreats, again and again. And even those who can manage to float to the top will sooner or later succumb to its frigid waters. We must get help to get out soon.’ He cocked his head to one side as he disengaged his clawed feet from the Elf’s over-tunic. ‘Let me try.’
It was a short glide to where the rocks jammed into the exit of the cavern. Rôg clung to the rough surface of the boulders and then began to carefully crawl about. At last, he found a narrow crack that he could ease himself through, this leading into another search for a further passage. A sense of urgency pushed him forward. He could hear below him, the sea seething low, seeking its way in. At last the scent of the sea air beyond the cavern grew stronger, and the high pitched sounds the little bat had been sending out faded into a clear distance and did not return.
The passageway he’d found grew narrower; it pressed closely on him as he inched forward, his goal in sight. He was almost out. His nose felt the breeze and he brought his leathery wings forward, the claws on them scraping along the ragged surface, pulling him forward. Rôg poked his head out, straining to catch some dim sight of where the Elven ship lay at anchor. He could not see it, but as he cast his gaze to the right, he saw two vague figures go scurrying away . . . like large dark crabs scuttling off along the upper part of the beach . . .
With a last push, he pulled one wing free and then made to free the other one . . . but the crevice had narrowed to a slit on that side and his wing caught on a jagged surface, tearing the thin membrane in a ragged line. Rôg pulled back, he knew the wing was injured enough that he could not fly. Turning carefully around he made his way back toward the cavern. He was bleeding and felt tired, light-headed as he dragged himself through the last passage way. With one final thrust he found himself in the cavern. He raised his little head, trying to focus on the few torches that were still lit. His claws lost purchase and he tumbled from his precarious grasp on the rock surface.
The cold water hit him as he fell. ‘Luindal,’ he cried, changing back to mannish form. ‘Are you near? I could not get through . . .’
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