Five-hundred-twenty-three, five-hundred-twenty-four… surely she should have left the Ramble by now. This is awful. She'd be more than a little tempted to ask the kindest-looking stranger she could find if they might try leading her out by the hand, but she's been in the city long enough to have a realistic idea of how that would turn out. What else can she do? She's tried everything, nothing's worked, and she has no way of reaching Iman or the Balladeer. Even the TARDIS has proven impossible to find.
The last thing she wants to do is sit down and give up. Trouble is, she's starting to run out of other options.
So when a voice calls out to her - someone else in need of help - she feels absurdly relieved. Never mind that she's in no state to help herself, let alone anyone else. At least trying to solve someone else's problem will give her something to do besides wander in circles.
"Yes? Yes!" she adds more assertively, looking for the source of the voice. "I'm here. Where, er… where are you?" The greenery is rather thick here, and she doesn't see any tell-tale scraps of clothing through the trees. She takes a few steps in the direction she thinks the voice came from, skirting around a tree, and then she spies the rather unusual clump of brambles growing out of an otherwise bramble-free section of forest. Her frown shifts from confused to alarmed as the tangled mess wriggles unnaturally. Is it enchanted?
Oh no, oh no, is someone in there?
Greta stumbles forward, drawing to a halt a few feet away - out of reach, she'd like to think, of any enterprising tendrils that might slither her way - and crouching a little to peer through the twisted, overlapping vines. And there's the flash of cloth she was looking for, the gleam of an eye, and suddenly her predicament doesn't seem so terrible at all. "Oh, you poor thing!" she gasps out, horrified.
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The last thing she wants to do is sit down and give up. Trouble is, she's starting to run out of other options.
So when a voice calls out to her - someone else in need of help - she feels absurdly relieved. Never mind that she's in no state to help herself, let alone anyone else. At least trying to solve someone else's problem will give her something to do besides wander in circles.
"Yes? Yes!" she adds more assertively, looking for the source of the voice. "I'm here. Where, er… where are you?" The greenery is rather thick here, and she doesn't see any tell-tale scraps of clothing through the trees. She takes a few steps in the direction she thinks the voice came from, skirting around a tree, and then she spies the rather unusual clump of brambles growing out of an otherwise bramble-free section of forest. Her frown shifts from confused to alarmed as the tangled mess wriggles unnaturally. Is it enchanted?
Oh no, oh no, is someone in there?
Greta stumbles forward, drawing to a halt a few feet away - out of reach, she'd like to think, of any enterprising tendrils that might slither her way - and crouching a little to peer through the twisted, overlapping vines. And there's the flash of cloth she was looking for, the gleam of an eye, and suddenly her predicament doesn't seem so terrible at all. "Oh, you poor thing!" she gasps out, horrified.