"Why thank you."  She smiled at the dark and handsome soldier as she took his hand.  "I think that patch there is firm ground."  She pointed toward the area were at least one body lay, along with what might be an outcrop of rock.  "I think they might be dead, but at least the bodies aren't sinking into the mud."  It was amazing, how circumstance changed one's perception of luxury.  Right now, that hard rock, if it was even a rock, looked more comfortable than the softest settee in the lord-mayor's palace.<br/><br/>Her grip was surprisingly strong as she grasped his hand, and it was most likely the drag of her voluminous and mud-caked courtiers skirts that held her back, more than any inherent weakness in her perfectly proportioned and quite feminine frame.<br/><br/>Once all were assembled, she looked from elf to elf to soldier, and then looked at each again.  "I am Guinevere of Aldbarrow."  She announced, as if the name was of some import.  "And I was in Westermist but minutes ago.  In my father's townhouse actually.  And no, I have no idea how I got here or where we are or how we might return."  But even as she spoke she was surveying the landscape from this new vantage - and while not one landmark was correct, there was a certain awful familiarity with the overall aspect of her current vista.<br/><br/>In bare feet now - her shoes were lost somewhere in all that sucking mud - but standing on nearly dry land, she waved a hand and muttered something arcane and trivial.  Instantly her lovely violet dress fell into perfect, pressed, and clean fit, every pleat and fold in place.  Muttering an waving again, she also banished the mud and grime from her companion's dress and equipment.<br/><br/>"Something... it's all strange.  But somehow the overall... I don't know, but I think..."  She couldn't say what she was thinking, it simply wasn't possible that the sickly yellow flow down there was the Aldbarrow.  No.  It wasn't.  She was sure.