the eyelid droops. she is unimpressed. however, the word keeps to her mind. slots itself. inexplicably, the scent of cold earth is evoked.

best not think on it.

as he corrects himself, she attempts to unfurl. dizziness still has half her head. it can be fought through. she now sits, spine to the pickaxe, one hand holding the face, as if it rolling off her neck is a concern.

i see. she mumbles, rubbing wrinkled skin. what a valiant rescuer. but she won't admit it - she can tell her pride is what gave her strength to resist the spell, and she'll nourish it.

the soothing hand drops into her lap. bleary-eyed, she looks off in the distance. is that woodland she sees up ahead? the earth rises slightly. clouds drag low over the faraway peaks.

a few questions are pertinent at the moment. pride takes precedence.

i am not baboon. she grumbles.