The floor creaks and the light from above grows weaker as the elevator goes down. No. It would be a shame to call the primitive contraption that traverse the old elevator shaft an elevator. Sure. It occupies the same space and fills roughly the same role but the elegance, speed and soft music of the old elevators is replaced with ropes, a rough floor and mechanisms that protests loudly against being used.
What word then, could she use to describe it? She can’t think of anything and sourly capitulates. “Alright. You’re an elevator. You happy?” The elevator moans and creaks, its sides scrapes against the shaft walls, but it doesn’t answer. “I get it. You’re an inanimate object. I could as well talk to myself.” She doesn’t feel like talking to herself. Instead she pouts and sit down on the floor. She looks at the large crank in the middle of the floor and sighs. At least she doesn’t have to crank it herself, the guys upstairs offered to do that for her.
It gets real dark. She produce a lightcaster from her bag and switch it on. Having nothing else to do while she waits for the elevator to reach its destination she goes through her bag one more time. Food, water, rope and a blanket in the big compartment. A piece of chalk, some firesticks and a small crowbar in the smaller compartment. And, laying on the floor beside her, a homemade spear. Nothing fancy, really. A piece of junk metal hammered to a tip and stuck on a long stick. She draws her knife from her belt and cuts away some irregularities from the stick.
Having made the stick comfortable to hold she’s almost forgotten where she’s at. The elevator comes to a halt abruptly and only by dropping what she’s holding can she stay upright. The lightcaster falls over and goes out. She crawls fast and feels around to find it. Feeling the wooden shavings against her bare hands she’s reminded that her knife is also somewhere on the floor. She slows down and sweeps carefully. After what feels like an eternity she finds the lightcaster and start it up again.
A grate door appears in front of her. Behind it a corridor leading to the ancient complex she’s dreamt of visiting since she was a kid. With trembling hands she gathers her stuff and brush the wood shavings from her clothes. She grabs the grate and push it to the side. It groans and jams halfway but with some force applied it folds away. She slings her bag over her shoulder and fastens the lightcaster on the strap. Then, with spear in hand, she takes her first steps into the tunnels of Skybreak’s Burrow.