<strong><em><span class="bbc_u">Fern</span></em></strong><br/><br/>"Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!"   Fern's frantic screams piercing the perfumed air as she lays trapped beneath the thing where it fell atop her, clutching her tight in its arms.  The foul stench surrounding her, forcing its way through through her, gouging its way deep inside her very pores.<br/><br/>"Oh gods! Please, somebody get this thing off meeeeeeee!" Scrambling madly, clawing at the flaccid flesh of a body already bearing the scent of decay, the bruised field beneath her spongy, clingy, not predisposed to allow ease of movement.<br/><br/>With the frenetic pace set by the slathering beast as well as the plummet from well, well above her Fern has no clear hope of any assistance from her travel companions.  Desperate, panic descends.  Whereas before it was a fight for her very life, now sanity has entered the picture.  The remembrance of the beast's last meal, the scent of offal and its own fetid carcass as well as the very real possibility that it could have been her own intestines bound within its gaping maw brings breath gasping through flared nostrils, unseeing eyes wide unblinking.<br/><br/>Adrenalin is a marvelous thing, until it leaves.  With the slow withdraw of this marvelous mechanism for heroic deeds from her battered body Fern's shoulder remembers the slam of a club, the feel of claws shredding leather's into tatters.  Not having had opportunity she is unsure if the fouled talons have brought something other than destroyed clothing to her, if it has broken her skin or just destroyed her leathers.