Erillia hit the ground with a grunt, twisting and rolling back onto her feet in the way she had been trained and long since perfected.  Of course, her outfit was usually far more supportive.  Her breasts bounced painfully on her chest, and the strap rubbed against her in a way that made her squirm with discomfort.<br/><br/>The blanket was tossed away without a second thought, the cleaning would only last so long, and was only so powerful.  She glanced up to see the demon that had taken the form of her mother, then turned and ran.  She had no interest in fighting, not in this state.  Retreat, therefore, seemed like the proper answer.<br/><br/>The jungle was likely another trap, but it seemed like the best option.  It was cover, if nothing else.  So she ran, bare feet slapping against the ground, arms crossed over her chest to try and support her breasts and stop the painful bouncing, the strap rubbing until she had to slow, or experience something she rather didn't want to at the present time.  The demon, it seemed, had known what he was doing when he chose the outfit to torment her.