Non-fictionThe caves delight my little boy. They smell of damp animal hide and old, old stone. He’s wearing a bright-­yellow helmet. There is the dizzying possibility of bats. The cave walls are unsteady in the glow of half-­a-­dozen head torches as we move deeper in. We climb up steps towards the apotropaic marks. I hit my head. Even with my helmet on, my eyes water. The world shivers as though lit by firelight.