Òyì nke e mepụtara

Billy’s hands shot out instinctively, grabbing at anything— His fingers caught a branch at the edge of the drop. It bent sharply under his weight. For a moment— it held. Hope hit him— crack. The branch snapped. And Billy dropped. The air rushed past him, cold and fast, tearing the breath from his chest. The world spun—sky, rock, trees—blurring together as he fell. Above, the edge of the cliff flashed past.