Deepwood Weald I don't like walking around this old and empty house

the rock began to ease, and soon, she was sure, she'd be able to climb higher up the ridge and turn south. she took to the rock, and gradually the sandstone that had existed as a barracade came to end and she became confident she could find a new path. the man who stood there suddenly could have been mistaken for a rock had her gaze only glanced over him; he lacked and outward intent and was entirely motionless. in that brief moment in which she considered between simply continuing on with a little more speed or pausing, he moved and her clumsiness betrayed her. she was large enough, only a few inches shorter than him, to have stood a chance of not toppling had she reacted. a slim chance, but one nonetheless. 

much like a rock, he sent the breath from her lungs as they collided in a dull thud. the ground was hard packed and aprroaching fast and then it was there, and ony fortune kept one or both of them from dying in that instant. neither landed entirely on the bottom (which surely would have resulted in death) but together and awkwardly. things cracked and snapped and without the air to breathe she didn't know from who the ghastly sounds originated. somehow, she was kept from fading entirely into unconsciousness, though darkness and static clouded her vision. she writhed and kicked then in the manner of a stallion, one limb almost comically bent and her entire chest on fire. her only desire was to get away, half-crushed still by the man as she was.