high above the highway aisle

hehe maybe @Vengeance ?

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It's night, now. She ought to be sleeping, indeed, exhaustion tugs at her every step and the dark seems to swirl with the edges of her vision. But the thought of closing her eyes and slipping away fills her with an odd measure of dread, and so she continues onward. As she moves, the woman falls into a simple rhythm, and her thoughts begin to wander, to press against the void at the edges of recollection where memories should be. And then, without being entirely aware of it, she begins to dream, thoughts meandering and shifting, and something beckons at the edge of memory, and

Jolt ripples through her forelimb and she is immediately thrust back to wakefulness, adrenaline spiking as she stumbles, gracelessly, forelimb caught under a root. She can not help the yell that escapes as she rolls onto her side, or the way her ankle twists beyond the way it is supposed to twist. Jaws clench, choking down the next yell, and heat and pain rush to her ankle in equal measure.
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The adrenaline and throbbing hurt make for a rude and sudden awakening, and for a moment she wonders if this is some dream she's been thrust into, that complete disorientation from this morning returning. The sudden appearance of a red-eyed specter accompanied by the stench of putrid rot has a nightmare more likely, but she realizes dimly that she is awake. Surely she wouldn't be able to feel pain like this in a dream, though she is vaguely aware of the fact that she has been through much, much worse. 

She can only stare, meeting those hellfire-lit eyes for a moment before her gaze abruptly drops. She curls her injured forelimb slowly in toward her, as if she might try to hide the weakness from the hellhound, and can only bring a hoarse, wavering, "hello" to her lips. Bramble is still not sure if she can trust in the authenticity of the beast she sees before her; he may just as well be a fragment from a dream.
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This is how prey felt, she realized. And she knew well the instinct that made her break after hare and deer; the moment they turned, and run, she would be after them. And so even as he neared, and the stench of him grew sickening, she remained still, hoping the submissiveness, the stillness of her would be enough to keep his lips over his fangs. She's reeling, hardly come to terms with being here and now with the monsters that apparently stalk wherever here is, but the voice in her head can only repeat her new mantra: don'tmovedon'tmovedon'tmovedon'tmove

"I don't know," she begins, voice still rasping against her throat, "where here is. I can go; I can leave." This is his claim; she's sure of it. She curls her limb tighter to her, small sound escaping her muzzle as the steady throb turns blinding a moment. She's no idea what wrong with it; whether it's a simple strain or something more serious, but she certainly can't find out with this eldrich being looming over her.
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He gives his consent, but somehow, it doesn't feel like it. This time, she can not bring herself to answer, willing the roots to swallow her up. She's an idiot, well and truly; she's barely been here (where or whatever here is) for a day and already she's met its monster and managed to make it harder for herself to survive by tripping over a goddamn root. She squints her eyes closed, but they flicker open again when the thing touches her. It's the spike of adrenaline she needs, she needs to get it together. 

"Yes," she answers, hating still the rasp of her voice. She's pretty sure it's not supposed to sound like that, at least, it doesn't in her head. "Thank you. If you could—" She loses her nerve then, but seizes it again after a moment. She slides out from his touch, heaving herself up onto three limbs, the fourth held high, pain made manageable by the ungodly amounts of adrenaline coursing through her. "If you could show me the way out, I'll go." She's quivering, she notes, some combination of pain and adrenaline and exhaustion. But she does not shift her gaze from the man, no matter how much she wants to squeeze it shut; she's certain that if she does, he'll pounce on her like a cat a mouse.
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He really was a fragment from some nightmare, drawing ever closer. If she weren't a coward, she thinks, she wouldn't play whatever game he seemed to be setting up. Her thoughts began to stumble over one another, and for a moment she doubts; he hadn't done anything outright monstrous. Just maybe, his concern was genuine — yeah, right, if she ignored the look, stench, and general vibe he gave off. But doubt; in herself, in him, had taken hold, and the right course of action was no longer clear. 

"It's alright. I'm a healer." Was she? The words came easily, and when she thought about it, a vague memory came to find; a plant, its shape and scent. Not a very good one. You ate those brown things, and then — The thought comes suddenly, brings a host of flickering images and scents that are just as quickly gone. Her brow furrows, she can't seem to keep it straight, and his teasing voice comes again. This time, she only extends her injured limb; her ankle is already swollen, bruised, and throbbing. Broken, or strained; she's still not sure. Her gaze shifts just as quickly back to him, hating the unease that floods her the moment she takes her eyes off the beast.
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Her tongue moves over her lips nervously as he comments on it. The fact that her ankle is still at a straight angle is emboldening, and carefully, she flexes her toes, finally pressing the limb to the ground and adding a touch of weight. A wince wrinkles her muzzle; painful, but not the blinding-hot pain that would signify a break. A sprain then, most likely; she can deal with this. It's his next words that spark fear; there is no we. She needs to make a run for it - not literally, she has the feeling that if she simply turned to leave, it'd end poorly for her. Bramble clears her throat, pulling the limb off the ground and searching a moment for the right words. 

"It's probably just a sprain. I — I think it should heal alright on its own."  she shifts slightly; offering him her side instead of facing him head on. " I won't burden you further. I'll go, just — this way?" She falters, trying to lead back to her original offer to get out of here, taking a wavering step forward before pausing again.
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She can feel the spark of it before it happens, like ozone before a lightning strike. And even though it seems, for a moment, as if she can trace every movement through the air before it happens, she can only sluggishly recoil as the boogyman moves with a speed she'd not thought possible, teeth pulling free from scarred lips and finding their sheath in her leg. Her mouth opens and she can only assume a scream tears out of it, but she can only hear a ringing through the pain. Pain is an understatement for what she feels tear through every fiber of her, some force that promptly silences every thought and turns her into a purely feral creature, one who snaps frantically at the man's face. She's fraying, she can't breathe and she can't see and —

And that's the last coherent(-ish) thought she puts together that night, as her consciousness decides to close up shop for the evening and darkness corrodes her vision entirely.
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