The dark clouds that have been chasing all week finally overtook me yesterday, punishing me with hail and forcing me underground.
No chance of any outside rock being dry since.
It has made me value my squalid hole however dank and smelly it may be.
My second day in here now. Golumnesque, I cling to the walls and attach myself to the roof living only in the beam of my head-torch.
It’s by no means dry in here.
Moisture seems to seep out of the rock, coating it in a slimy film.
Parts of the walls and ceilings are black from fire. The hole has been lived in, I hear, for thousands of years.
I check for occupants regularly and crap in a bag as not to anger whoever may return......