Sara lay on a dirt and rock floor, too stunned to discern one pain from the next.
One moment she had been hiking, laughing with friends, and planning to stop for the night. The next was an ill-fated step that sent her falling, immediately dropping through trees and then tumbling hard to land with an abrupt thud.
Sara surmised that she must have fallen into a canyon, below the mountain they were hiking, but couldn’t imagine she would have survived the fall. Her backpack was still with her. It’s a plain miracle, she mused, Thank you, Jesus!
She looked up, trying to see where she had fallen from, but it was too dark to determine. Slowly, she pulled her aching body to a sitting position as breathing was restored.
She ran one hand over her head and arms, checking for blood and broken bones. “Even my bruises have bruises,” she muttered, peering into the murky darkness miserably, searching for anything resembling shelter. Unable to make anything out, she extracted a flint from her backpack.
A welcoming warmth illuminated the night and a long, low scream was wrenched from her soul as she realized she was not sitting in the safety of a canyon floor. The fall had cast her onto a small shelf on the side of the mountain. The darkness she had stared into would be sudden death with a single step.
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