The rain was falling so hard that each drop stung the skin of her face, and she did not want to chance what it might do to her eyes if she opened them. Her eyes were tightly closed-in part to shut out the fury of the storm, and in part to protect her vision. Sooner or later, the winds would tug her loose and she would begin falling once more. But one thing she did know: She could not remain where she was. She could not remember, and she would likely never know for certain. Perhaps it had slowed her just enough, arresting her fall sufficiently to allow the cliffs to catch hold of her. Perhaps the blow was even responsible for saving her. Her aching, throbbing head provided further proof. Yet as the buffeting winds set her swaying back and forth, she was reminded of how precarious her situation was. She was dangling from something that had snagged her and now held her fast. She could hear the sounds of the storm all around her-the staccato slap of raindrops against the stone walls of the Rock Spur cliffs, the howl of the wind, and the thunder of the rain-swollen river as it surged wildly down its narrow channel.
She could feel sheets of hard rain beating down on her, soaking her clothing and chilling her body. It surprised her when she woke from the blackness into which she had fallen when she had gone over the cliffs of Cleeg Hold and dropped toward the churning waters of the Mermidon several hundred feet below.
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