The Castle of Llyr by Lloyd Alexander

Rhun, who was bleeding heavily from a gash at the side of his head.
    The end of the vine dangled from above. Taran seized and lashed it securely under the Prince’s arms, shouting for Fflewddur and Gurgi to pull him up. The vine tautened, strained—and snapped. Earth and stones showered from the raw sides of the hole.
    â€œBeware!” Taran cried. “The ground is giving way!”
    â€œAfraid you’re right,” Fflewddur called back. “In that case, I think we’d better give you a hand from down there.”
    Taran saw the soles of Fflewddur’s boots plunge toward him. The bard landed with a grunt, and Gurgi, whose hair looked as though it had scraped away most of the dirt from the hole, tumbled after.
    Prince Rhun’s eyelids fluttered. “Hullo, hullo!” he murmured. “What happened? Those roots were surprisingly deep!”
    â€œThe land must be eaten away along the riverbank,” Taran said.
“When you pulled, the strain and weight opened up this hole. Never fear,” he added quickly, “we’ll soon have you out. Help us to turn you. Can you move at all?”
    The Prince nodded, gritted his teeth, and, with the companions lifting him, began painfully clambering up the side of the pit. But he had gone no more than halfway when he lost his handhold. Taran scrambled to block his fall. Rhun clutched wildly at a root and hung poised a moment in mid-air.
    The root tore free and Rhun plummeted downward. The wall of earth rumbled as the pit collapsed around them. Taran flung up his arms against the rush of soil and shale. He was thrown down, the ground cracked at his feet, fell away, and left him spinning in nothingness.
    A violent shock stunned him. Loose earth filled his nose and mouth. Lungs bursting, he fought against the weight pressing the life from him. It was only then he realized he had stopped falling. His head still reeled, but he twisted and clawed his way through dirt and pebbles. He heaved himself upward, breathing once again.
    Gasping and trembling, he dropped at full length on a sloping, rocky floor, in darkness so deep it seemed to suffocate him. At last regaining strength enough to lift his head, he tried vainly to peer through the shadows that filled his eyes. He called to the companions, but no answer came. His voice rang with a strange, hollow echo. In despair, he shouted once more.
    â€œHullo, hullo!” called another voice.
    â€œPrince Rhun!” Taran cried. “Where are you? Are you safe?”
    â€œI don’t know,” answered the Prince. “If I could see better, I could tell you better.”

    Raising himself to hands and knees, Taran crawled forward. His groping fingers met a shaggy mass that stirred and whimpered.
    â€œTerrible, oh terrible!” moaned Gurgi. “Rumblings and crumblings fling poor Gurgi into fearsome blackness. He cannot see!”
    â€œGreat Belin,” came Fflewddur’s voice out of the dark, “I’m delighted to hear that. For a moment I thought I’d been struck blind. I swear I can see more with my eyes shut!”
    Ordering Gurgi to hang on to his belt, Taran crept in the direction of the bard’s voice. Soon the companions had found each other again, and also Prince Rhun who had managed to drag himself toward them.
    â€œFflewddur,” Taran said in an anxious voice, “I fear the landslide has blocked the pit. Dare we try to dig our way out?”
    â€œI don’t think it’s so much a question of digging as it is of finding, if you take my meaning,” replied the bard. “Whether we can burrow through all that dirt is, to say the least of it, highly doubtful. Even a mole would have trouble, though I’m willing to give it a try. A Fflam is undaunted! But,” he added, “without a light to guide us, we shall spend the rest of our days looking for the right spot to dig.”
    Taran nodded and knitted his brow. “It’s true.