ELEVEN
Philemon feverishly searched every inch of the cavern twice over, and still he did not find the ring. He shouted until he was hoarse, but only ominous silence greeted him from above. He feared the city was empty but for him. And the water beneath it was draining away. Even now, the pool that had broken his fall had dried to a couple of shallow puddles.
No matter how high he leaped, he could not catch the lip of any of the wells, which taunted him from above.
But he would not die down here. He was a prince, by all that was holy.
If he could not return to the city, then he would find another way. The water here had travelled some sort of path between the city and the oasis, and where water went, so could he.
He'd follow the water to the oasis and make his way back to the city
