Meadowlark Prairie whatever's lost cannot be found

She is not ignorant to his anger, the change in his step, and is wary, and yet doesn't expect the shove that comes quick and fast. An effort to keep her balance is futile, and she reels into the river, the cold not entirely unwelcome in this heat, but the forceful way she is propelled into them has her hiss. She gains her footing quick, silently, refusing to give the brute the satisfaction of her words. She stands there, dripping wet, burning eyes asking the question her tongue will not. "The hell?"  She supposed that the concept of acting normal was completely alien to this idiot, but what was she to expect from a kidnapping, murderous bastard? The thought suddenly makes the situation all the more real, and more a moment her resolve falters. How in the hell had this happened? Her head seems to spin, and terror takes hold like a hungry leech in her mind. But this sudden slip has the stubborn, hot-headed piece of her surge forth, and she stiffens once more, green gaze a mask of scorn and hate.