Cliffhanger...

A single stone dribbled down the side of the rock-face and sliced a jagged path across his weathered cheek. His lip curled against the pitiful and momentary flinch of pain. A second stone, slightly larger in diameter, thudded against his shoulder with bruising force. Olaf Spoonbeard did not need a third stone to tell him that conditions on the mountain had taken a turn from perilous to outright deadly.

“Jorund!” He bellowed against the fierce howl of the wind. “Rockfall!” He pushed himself tight against the craggy surface, dirt embedding itself under his fingernails as he scrabbled to find a strong purchase on the crumbling stones. He ducked his head, attempting to tuck his lumbering frame into as small a target as possible. Spoonbeard could only hope that his brother had heeded his warning and was able to take similar precautions. The rope between them remained slack at least, a sign that Jorund had not continued to climb too much further above him.

Over the animalistic screech and cry of the wind that buffeted against him and threatened to undermine his secure footing, Spoonbeard could hear the distant thunder of fragmenting rock. The avalanche fell upon them fast and it fell hard. The treacherous projectiles pelted down as if thrown by some fierce mountain god in a murderous rage. He gritted his teeth as a boulder slashed through the thick wool of his tunic and tore open his skin in a sudden burning flash. Cuts and scrapes would heal easily enough in time, Spoonbeard knew, but the principal danger to climbers was broken bones. If either he or Jorund were disabled here on the mountain, then neither of them would ever get down alive.

The temperamental mountain calmed as quickly as it had become riled. The shower of rocks began to ease, until finally only a few scattered lumps bumped their tremulous path downwards. As Spoonbeard began to relax tense muscles the rope around his waist went limp. He reacted instinctively before his mind had registered the full import of what had happened. Extending one arm he wrapped the rope around his wrist. The rope stretched taut as his brother fell past him and then recoiled as the fall was inhibited. Spoonbeard screamed as the recoil wrenched at his wrist and forearm snapping something deep inside.

“Jorund?” He waited desperately for a reply to his hoarse cry, but could distinguish none over the blood pumping furiously in his ears. Had Jorund been knocked senseless, or was his brother’s dead body tethered to the other end of the rope? Spoonbeard was faced with an impossible decision. He could hold on in the hope that Jorund would awaken and be fit to climb once more. Or he could sever the rope and drop the dead weight of his younger brother. Rationally Spoonbeard knew he could not wait indefinitely for his brother to move on his own accord. His body was already trembling from the strain and the slightest slip of the foot would send them both to their deaths. A sharp outcrop lay neatly aligned with his rope-bound wrist. It would be a simple enough matter to fray the rope that connected them.

Could Spoonbeard hold on or would he be forced to kill his brother?...