"They're only brambles," Greta says, hands akimbo. Is he really asking them to not even try? "And they don't seem inclined to, er, come after anyone else, so we should be able to handle them without getting bound up."

Whether she could get out of here or not comes second. She, at least, isn't rooted to one spot and in constant discomfort. Fixing Johnny with a stern look, she adds, "I'm not just abandoning you here, and I don't mind a few more cuts and scrapes if it gets you out." To illustrate her point, she resumes plucking and tugging at the outermost layer of tangled vines, her lips pressed together in a determined line.