Then he began to fall. Fast. The sides of the gorge flashed past - grey rock, green moss, patches of white snow, all tumbling down around him.
Logen turned over slowly in the air, limbs flailing pointlessly, too scared to scream. The rushing wind whipped at his eyes, tugged at his clothes, plucked the breath out of his mouth. He saw the big Shanka hit the rock face beside him. He saw it break and counce and flop off, dead for sure. That was a pleasing sight, but Logen's satisfaction was short-lived.
The water came up to meet him. It hit him in the side like a charging bull, punched the air out of his lungs, knocked the sense out of his head, sucked him in and down into the darkness...
- The Blade Itself, Prologue, The End