Like the stench of a preserved animal in a jar, you can smell not only your death but the morbid fate which awaits thereafter. The sharp rocky walls of the passage glisten pitch black as the rain from above oozes down. The echos of the slow dripping deepen the shadows as the falling drops glisten in the dying torchlight. Some way down the passage the growling of the distant ocean lurks in waiting. The passage behind had not led you anywhere but a dead end. Take your steps with care now, as the gritty sand around your toes gives way to smooth-worn rock beneath them. The water is filled with debris... all the dead things were washed here by the violent ocean to rot in the entrance to this cave. Just as you were.
But you are not dead yet, and far from finished trying.