“It doesn’t look much from a distance,” say I.
“Oh I don’t know,” says Ned, “but why the Devil’s Drop?”
“Well, it started out as Devil’s Rock because of a perceived likeness, in our minds at least, to Devil’s Tower, Wyoming,” says Wen.
“But of course it’s nowhere near as big as the Devil’s Tower,” say I.
“And the evil bit?”
“Well, we had a bit of a… what shall we say, we had a bit of a strange experience up there when we tried to climb it, didn’t we Wen?”
This is an awful cop out I know, but if the truth be told there are two emotions at play here vying for precedence. The first is a feeling of foolishness because, from this distance at the side of the road, the ‘Drop’ looks like nothing more than a rather impressive and undoubtedly fascinating natural rock formation, whilst the second is the memory of the experience I had when climbing it… which latter has been impinging itself ever since we turned the Silver Bullet in its general direction and it has become abundantly clear that we are indeed seriously considering the utter madness of taking Ned ‘up the Drop’.
“That’s right,” says Wen gamely, “we think there’s a warding up there, but we’d like a second opinion.”
“You’ve both been up, right?” says Ned.
“I’ve been up there,” I say quietly. “Wen ran away.”
“I did not run away, Donald Sams… I merely moved away rapidly in the opposite direction… and anyway… you never got to the top.”
“I did so get to the top, I just never stood up on the top that’s all.”
“Never stood up?” says Ned.
“For fear of being blown off.”
“Was it windy?”
“I see,” smiles Ned.
“I’m not sure you do…”