Before they had time to realise their position, they were in the sunlight. The upheaval still continued. In another minute or two the valley floor had formed a new mountain, a hundred feet or more higher than the old. Then its movement ceased suddenly. Every noise stopped, as if by magic; not a rock moved. Oceaxe and Maskull picked themselves up and examined themselves for cuts and bruises. The shrowk lay on its side, panting violently, and sweating with fright.
“That was a nasty affair,” said Maskull, flicking the dirt off his person.
Oceaxe staunched a cut on her chin with a corner of her robe.
“It might have been far worse.... I mean, it’s bad enough to come up, but it’s death to go down, and that happens just as often.”
“Whatever induces you to live in such a country?”
“I don’t know, Maskull. Habit, I suppose. I have often thought of moving out of it.”
“A good deal must be forgiven you for having to spend your life in a place like this, where one is obviously never safe from one minute to another.”
“You will learn by degrees,” she answered, smiling.
She looked hard at the monster, and it got heavily to its feet.
“Get on again, Maskull!” she directed, climbing back to her perch. “We haven’t too much time to waste.”