The Cliffs of Ta’har

No mists rolled over the cliff’s edges; no bird calls echoed in the night. It was only Terence under the moon. He dragged his feet through dew-dropped grass, edging closer, wishing once again he wasn’t alone. He reached an arm out over the dark edge, watching his fingers tremble, then steady, until they were steel. His heartbeat slowed with resolve and then it called out to him.

“There is a rumour that, if you come to the Cliffs of Ta’har at a certain time, on a certain day, there is a devil that will hold your hand as you jump.”