Sun Mote Copse You were dancing in your tube socks in our hotel room.

The strongest scents came from the east, so that's wear she headed. It was tough to navigate through the forest without getting lost, and get lost she did - multiple times - before finding herself on a weird little ledge formed by ancient root growth and an abundance of sod. She came to that precipice and was hit in the face by a blast of warm summertime air, most of which smelled distinctly like wolf; there were other scents, most of which brought a prickling to her short coat, but the blast was overwhelming. Blackheart tried to do an about-face, as if someone were pulling at her leash to redirect her, and lost her footing.

Cue the tumble. Ears flapping, limbs flailing, tail tucked, she essentially rolled from the edge and landed in a heap at the bottom. It was a steep drop but not a long one; ferns cushioned her somewhat, but even so she ended up on her back with a mossy branch lodged against the small of it, blinking blearily up at a shaft of light full of spinning dust.

For a moment she forgot where she was, because that fall had been sort-of fun. The woman let the whirling of the world settle, laying in the mixed debris as she was, and tried to dislodge herself from this awkward belly-up position — except as she began to, something large lunged from the dark.