Flycatcher Downs Ring ring, the bartender please?

She did little to help the man as he clamped his jaws round her scruff; letting herself stay limp as her body grazed the grass. Her mumbling ceased as she was slung over his back, quite surprised by his sudden movements. Though for a creature of potential poise and elegance, what did he expect. "Racoon or a um wolf. Maybe a pigeon, a fox? No no, not a fox. A turtle, fish?" Fuzzed and blurred, she did the best she could in her current state to address the stranger, but it seemed her tongue did not agree. At the moment it felt like a flabby piece of flesh. Like herself. Maybe she was a flabby piece of flesh, useless and full of absolute shit.

Whatever the heck she was, she knew only a few things. She was tired, sore. Bend and miserable. And this.. thing carrying her? Well she didn't care if it was making things better or worse.

It took a few hours of agonisingly slow movement before the duo reached damper ground. Still at the lowest of the low, the wench could only wait with eyes glued shut to see what magic this creature could perform. And whether it would be enough to save her skin. If she wanted to be saved, that is. Pretty big statement to have an answer other than 'no' for the time being.