Thunder growled, distant, ominous. I followed Shaw to the edge.
“You know, lieutenant, they call this the Lion’s Head.”
I looked at the obsidian ground, reminding myself that an upwelling of fluid volcanic glass created those tangled, mane-like patterns, but another roll of thunder underlined my unease.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“You asked me to.”
I asked him to take me to his victims’ graves. He couldn’t have buried anyone here.
Another rumble, but I couldn’t fool myself now that it was distant, or even that it was thunder. I could feel the vibration in the rock.
The next tremor threw me off my feet, and as I fell the last rational thing I saw was Shaw, free and exultant.
Then I was over the edge, and the last irrational thing I saw was the glint in the lion’s eye before he stooped to accept his latest offering.
You know the drill, right? The ever splendid Angela Goff has supplied, once more, a photo prompt for a story of 150 words or less. She also supplied the word Basking but I went off in a different direction this week. To see the prompt and to find out what directions my talented co-conspirators took, follow the link.