[[<a class="postlink" href="http://orokos.com/roll/361897">Fighting</a>:<span style="text-decoration: underline">2#1d6</span><span style="font-weight: bold">2</span><span style="font-weight: bold">6</span>Yasha does not get extra-gurgled, and the autogurgle does not touch her toughness.<br/><a class="postlink" href="http://orokos.com/roll/361903">Spirit (recovery from Shaken</a>:<span style="text-decoration: underline">1d8+1d6</span><span style="font-weight: bold">11</span>(7,4); Yasha recovers from Shaken, but cannot further act this round!]]<br/><br/>As Yasha curls into a ball inside the tight marten's stomach, she's no longer able to see or hear much of anything that goes on outside the bandit's belly. Her initial reactions are all but automatic, throwing elbows into the tight flesh around her and reorienting herself so that she's heads-up and not heads-down inside the stomach. It was much easier to escape when you weren't backing up a rippling throat, and Yasha very strongly wanted to escape. The marten was her own size, though; Yasha knew from experience that being small often meant having to work harder to get a meal down, but once you had someone in a tight embrace it was harder for them to escape than it would be from someone a little larger. Harder for<span style="font-style: italic">Yasha</span>to escape, now... she can't get any leverage to make her elbow strikes have any force, the impact dissipating into the taut but still soft oozing flesh without even bruising the surprisingly touch stomach walls. Breathing in shallow gasps that deplete the air even faster than they otherwise would, Yasha's motions get jerkier, throwing wild flailing punches into the stomach walls with her mind unable to collect itself to make a concerted effort. Her fur's already matted down all over by the scant juices in the stomach holding her, making her a comical sight- but of course, there's no light inside the stomach and nobody else to see her immaculate grooming reduced to a gloopy mess.<br/><br/>The marten's voice fills her ears; she's only been inside a stomach once or twice before, and the sensation of the marten's squeaky voice thundering all around her from the boundaries of her current tiny, muggy universe is one that has the brief power to freeze her in her tracks. As she's referred to as delicious- the best meal the marten's ever had- a frightened shiver runs up her spine. And when she's referred to as a hairball and fertilizer, something about the barb sinks home. Though she'll deny it until the day she dies, Yasha tastes actual fright for a long few seconds that she's going to be stuck inside this lucky woman until part of her is hacked up in a gooey wad of matted fur and the rest deposited behind a tree in the woods. The stomach walls seem to press in on her tighter and squeeze, and in her imagination Yasha can feel torrents of acids pouring in to drown her in melting oblivion... and she doesn't even consciously hear the marten asking her to help persuade the others to back off, not that she'd be able to do so in her current condition.<br/><br/>It's only when the marten flops onto her stomach that Yasha snaps out of her brief spike of terror, calming her aimless thrashing and buying her a little time to think about her predicament in more reasoned terms. She's still soaked with mild acids, and the air is rapidly getting fouler, but she didn't feel the itching or burning she was told was a telltale of imminent digestion. That meant she had a bit more time than her initial panicked reaction- but that she couldn't afford to waste any more time setting up an escape unless she wanted to make the marten's prediction come true!