As me and mi *Marra were ¤puttin the tram, mi †lowe it went oot and mi Marra went wrang. Oh ye wad have laughed ta see such a gyem, Aud Nick tyuek mi Marra but I tyuek the tram.

Follow the horses Johnny mi laddie, follow them through mi canny lad oh, follow the horses Johnny mi laddie, oh lad lie away mi canny lad oh.

(The Collier’s Rant)

Rowanne had not been as scared as she was right now in a very long time. Cold stone to her back and cloying darkness all around her. It felt like an age since the sounds of fighting had faded, but there was no way out through the main seam. The Wyrmlings were determined predators and it would be quite a while before they moved on. Unless she got moving she wouldn’t have that long left anyway. The water she’d waded through to get to the seam she was working had been cold enough to chill her to the bone, and there was only so much a vest and ganzie could do to keep the chill out. It felt like she’d been down here days by now in the damp.

Strange, what was that noise? There was nothing up ahead but the wall she had been hewing earlier, yet from that area a soft noise echoed out. Tap Tap Tap. As she gazed towards it and fumbled to haul her pick free the knocking became more persistent. Not loud, just determined. She pictured the sound like ripples and placed her hand in the earth and clarts, crawling closer and closer to the insistent tapping.

Eventually her hand hit a crack in the stone before her. It wasn’t very big, and if it narrowed any further on her she would be trapped. She wondered if they would ever find her if that happened, and if they did would they only be able to identify her by the patterns Auntie Agnes had knitted into her ganzie. Well if she didn’t get moving soon she’d die regardless.

Anything beat that, so she fastened her pick securely and started to crawl. In the pitch black, feeling round ahead for sharp edges, it felt like the earth itself was trying to chew her up and spit her out. But the knocking was closer than ever. Her hand grasped ahead, again hitting only claggy mud on the ground and empty air above.

Then her leg caught on the stone a sharp edge tearing at her thigh; as the Wyrmlings stirred at the scent of blood, she knew her time was up. Scrabbling desperately and ignoring the searing pain as the stone tore deeper she wedged her elbows at the edges kicking and pushing with her feet and using her arms to wrench herself free.

Heart hammering in her chest and knowing wherever the hell she was now there was no going back the way she came she slammed her pick hard into the stone behind her. Collapsing the impromptu tunnel, she scrambled clear to catch her breath.

After a little while, a sinking feeling settled in her chest as she realised there was only one place she could possibly have crawled into. Turning on a light here meant death by explosion or worse. Cursing her luck, she realised she was in what was left of Cutty’s colliery.