After Dark 

You are rock-climbing about 20 feet below your friend Terri. It's a remote location on Mt. Whitney, steep and tricky, a place only expert climbers dare to go. The sun is setting, casting spectacular shadow-patterns over jagged gray boulders. You are savoring the moment and looking forward to the night's open-fire dinner on the summit when you hear what no rock climber ever wants to hear: the ominous thunder of a rock slide beginning!

A terrified shriek falls past you. A sharp rock must've severed the rope that connected you, so she falls alone. Goodbye Terri. You cling instinctively to the face of the mountain, pressing your belly into it in hopes of surviving the deadly rain of rocks--but your grip is precarious. You know that your life is hanging by your own insufficient fingertips wedged in rock. A small boulder glances against your temple, and the world grays out. Your grip is slipping.

Suddenly a strong hand closes around your wrist, and you feel vertigo and the sense of floating over space. Is this a dream?

You regain consciousness with a throbbing headache and the slowly focusing view of an orange glow. A fire. You are in a cave, and feel a tongue on your face. You hear a rustling sound and turn your head too quickly--ouch--to see a large hulking shape over you.

Eyes gleam at you. It moves. You feel a rush of fear that cures your headache instantly.

Choose

A) You scramble backwards, putting distance between you and the unknown menace.

B) You talk to it soothingly. Don't beasts respond to calm voices?