Grouse Thicket Where the streets have no name

Wirt recoiled when the pressure left him and retched out a final hack. Air flooded his chest, and around him, the world danced with flecks of white and black. He couldn't really think on what the woman was saying or what she was doing - her words and brushing felt like a thousand grouse against him - but when his mind finally caught up with reality, he found he was laughing.

"No harm, I'm fine," he coughed again as he tried to edge his words between her frenzied fuss and craned his neck to peer over his shoulder. The glimpse he caught of her matched how she'd felt against him - large, but only in fluff. He thumped his head back on the ground. "Unless you count these poor brambles a casualty, then you have many things to repent of," he gave a crooked smile and he let her brush off the last of debris she'd crashed against him.