Next time she ought to take better care in selecting a destination before leaping out of her personal space. Is that the lesson, here? To be sure, her frustration has evaporated like the faint clouds of her breath, but now she's utterly lost. This could be any forest, anywhere.
...no, not just any forest. Setting aside the tickley fiddlefern feeling of strange magic on her skin, clues to help her pinpoint hemisphere, continent and country are literally sprouting up all around her. Dillie stands on her toes to squint at the underside of the leaves overhead - nearest her nose are broad, oval, toothy hazel leaves. Higher up are the splayed fingers and gnarled cathedral branches of an oak. Ground ivy springs up under her feet and pillowy primrose leaves shield tightly bound flower buds.
Northern Europe, then? Or North America. Or some plane that mirrors both to an unsettling degree? Everything is much bigger and disturbingly green for this time of year. Dillie presses her palm to the hazel's trunk and tugs at her earlobe. What else is she missing? Maybe the hedge of thorns itself?
She's just turning to look behind her when a voice, high as reedsong, slides through the quiet. Dillie's turn becomes a spin, one she barely manages to stick. The smell of bitter sage stains the air as the mugwort in her shoe is crushed into paste.
Dillie takes no notice; the person(age?) in front of her is too arresting. He...she...they? They're shorter than she is, measured nose-to-nose, but the antlers spiraling from their temples top her head by a good eight inches. There's an overwideness to their eyes and a strange cast to their nose that mars their human seeming, but otherwise they're as delicate and androgynous as a child. Which, unless Dillie mistakes her guess, makes them quite dangerous.
This is her first corporeal nonhuman entity, though, so that's mostly hearsay and conjecture.
"I'm--" her voice creaks on the first try. She swallows and takes another go. "I'm afraid I am. I took a wrong turn, or..." she pauses, and tugs at her ear again. Hmm. "Or something turned me wrong."
It's rude to ramble, but doubly so when trespassing, so Dillie hastily returns her attention to the...antlered being, and bobs a quick curtsy. "I don't mean to wander uninvited, but it might be I was sent here. I'm a--a hedgewitch and a healer. Sort of. Is there anything I can do for you?"
no subject
...no, not just any forest. Setting aside the tickley fiddlefern feeling of strange magic on her skin, clues to help her pinpoint hemisphere, continent and country are literally sprouting up all around her. Dillie stands on her toes to squint at the underside of the leaves overhead - nearest her nose are broad, oval, toothy hazel leaves. Higher up are the splayed fingers and gnarled cathedral branches of an oak. Ground ivy springs up under her feet and pillowy primrose leaves shield tightly bound flower buds.
Northern Europe, then? Or North America. Or some plane that mirrors both to an unsettling degree? Everything is much bigger and disturbingly green for this time of year. Dillie presses her palm to the hazel's trunk and tugs at her earlobe. What else is she missing? Maybe the hedge of thorns itself?
She's just turning to look behind her when a voice, high as reedsong, slides through the quiet. Dillie's turn becomes a spin, one she barely manages to stick. The smell of bitter sage stains the air as the mugwort in her shoe is crushed into paste.
Dillie takes no notice; the person(age?) in front of her is too arresting. He...she...they? They're shorter than she is, measured nose-to-nose, but the antlers spiraling from their temples top her head by a good eight inches. There's an overwideness to their eyes and a strange cast to their nose that mars their human seeming, but otherwise they're as delicate and androgynous as a child. Which, unless Dillie mistakes her guess, makes them quite dangerous.
This is her first corporeal nonhuman entity, though, so that's mostly hearsay and conjecture."I'm--" her voice creaks on the first try. She swallows and takes another go. "I'm afraid I am. I took a wrong turn, or..." she pauses, and tugs at her ear again. Hmm. "Or something turned me wrong."
It's rude to ramble, but doubly so when trespassing, so Dillie hastily returns her attention to the...antlered being, and bobs a quick curtsy. "I don't mean to wander uninvited, but it might be I was sent here. I'm a--a hedgewitch and a healer. Sort of. Is there anything I can do for you?"