andhiswife: (what was that)
She sits up with a gasp and an awkward flailing of limbs, forest litter caught in her hair. One skeletal oak leaf drops forward to bat against her nose, and she scrapes it away. She needs to get her bearings. What happened?

She's in the Woods. They were looking for Jack. She found the Prince, and… well, never mind that bit. And then the Giant approached, the ground quaked beneath her feet, and she'd tried to steady herself and missed - she'd felt a flash of disgust: oh, well done, me - and everything had dropped from beneath her, and…

Well, here she is. She twists to look around, soon spying a rather steep hill that starts only a few paces away. That must be where she tumbled down, then. She can't see any obvious signs of disruption along the slope, but she's not a woodsman, and what other explanation can there be?

How long was she out? What else has she missed?

"Oh, for--" she clambers to her feet, noting as she goes that she doesn't seem any worse for wear after her fall. Probably something she should have determined before she tried getting to her feet, but it's fine, she's fine. Goodness knows about anyone else, and she presses her lips together in a self-recriminating frown. A few more leaves are liberated as she gives her skirts a brisk, settling shake and pushes back her hair, getting herself back in order.

That's when she notices her neck is bare, and she pats at her collar incredulously. "Where…?" She circles in place, peering at the ground, then turns her attention back to the slope. She must have lost the scarf on the way down. It won't be easy to spot, and she doesn't have time to search for it, and what had possessed her to knit the thing in earth tones in the first place? She should have made it blue or something. Ugh.

Well, she has to get back up this hill, anyway, doesn't she? She'll just have to keep an eye out for it as she goes.

The hill is steeper than it looks, as it turns out. Much steeper. She makes it only a few yards before she treads on her hemline, overbalances, somersaults back down with an undignified whoop, and lands right on her bottom.

"Fantastic," she grumbles. "Wonderful."

But there's no time for sulking, either, and she gets back to her feet. Maybe there's an easier place to climb a little further along. Not that she has any idea where she's going - she was all turned around even before she fell, and she's not entirely convinced getting to higher ground will help - but she can't just sit here. How far had she gone, a hundred and forty-something paces? She'll try for just twenty this time, and if she doesn't see anything she recognizes, she'll pick a different direction and try again. She gives the slope one last thorough look, rubbing her neck uneasily. Then she shakes her head and turns to march parallel to the hill, counting her paces under her breath.

After fifteen paces, she stops to call out, "Jack?" She pauses for three beats of her heart, straining to hear a response. "Jack!"
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