What is life? Tipan pondered this question while scraping more dirt. Sweat poured down his face. More dirt. An ache burned in his arms and legs. More dirt. What is life? Survival? It must be something more. More dirt. It tumbled down, down, down behind him into the depths of blackness. Even in that darkness, his eyes could see the tunnel walls angling sharply down for the miles he had already dug. More dirt. His hands vibrated from his shovel’s growl.

“I’m hungry too.” Tipan said to the shovel. Hungry for more than just food. More dirt. Fear nagged at Tipan. Not of what he would find when he reached the above place, but rather that it did not exist. That all the world was nothing but darkness, decay, and savagery. More dirt. Long ago, he had lost track of the time. Months maybe? His food pack rested flat against him. The occasional root his only food source. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered unless he could find what would satisfy his true hunger.

So, Tipan continued. Curiosity and longing burned in him so hotly, it dwarfed the stabbing in his stomach. It would be worth it. It had to be. More dirt.

Another thrust with his shovel and the dirt softened. Hope. The next thrust struck something hard. A root. This one wasn’t like the others. It was thicker. Tipan’s shovel formed serrations along the side to saw at the root. The shovel growled again.

“Not yet, Mosfuru,” Tipan said. “We’re close, I can feel it.” Placing the root in his bag, he continued. More soft dirt. Thrust, scrape, thrust, scrape. So close. He ignored the protest in his arms and legs. Was it getting colder? Another thrust, more dirt. Another thrust.

Instead of dirt tumbling down passed him, a brilliant light seared his eyes. Almost dropping Mosfuru, Tipan clenched his eyes shut. He felt a breeze rush in, freezing his sweat. White powder drifted into his tunnel. The light and the cold stung. He welcomed it with all his heart.

The above place. Freedom. Life. Tipan adjusted his eyes for light while spilling out of the tunnel to land on his hands and knees. More white fluff enveloped him on his collapse to the ground of this new place. His shovel melted into a gray slime as he looked around. It was so…open. Not a single wall.

Then he noticed the sky.

That was a mistake. He was not prepared for the disorientation. There was no ceiling, it just went up. Forever. Once again, he clenched his eyes shut. His fingers grabbed onto the hard, rough dirt as if he feared he would fall up and up into that eternal ceiling. Kneeling, he struggled not to wretch. He was exhausted and cold, but that didn’t matter to him. He was free now.

Tipan’s skin rebuffed the cold as he regained mastery over his stomach. He forced himself to rise, panting from the climb. Consciously keeping his eyes down, he looked back to the small opening behind him.

“Only one thing left to do, now. Can’t let my brothers follow me.” He said to his once-shovel. The voice that left him sounded gruffer than he remembered. The climb had been taxing.

He held out his hand whispering “tokandis.” Faint brown aurora trails flashed in a swirl and flowed into him. Slamming his hand down, the mountain responded with a violent shake. Dirt shifted and his humble escape tunnel caved in. Tipan forced himself to look up. If he could conquer the deep, then he could conquer the heights. His admiration of the twinkling lights turned to nausea before he fell back to his knees.