There were trees—at least, she thought there were. There were brown things, at least, with green tops. But they whirled and dance, twisting in ways she had never seen before. The sky was above and below her all at once, a streak of baby blue that would have been beautiful if it didn't feel as though she were going to fall into it, plummet and plummet and plummet until she struck the stars.
The ground buckled beneath her with each step, somehow too rigid and too soft at the same time. Chunks of dirt scattered with each dragged step, her flesh torn away by the harsh ground. The tops of her fingers burned, the meat of her flesh bared to the harsh air, embedded with pebbles and splinters and chunks of wood.
How long had she been following the river? It rushed at her side, her ears deaf to its incessant babbling. She had been walking long enough for her shadow to go from short and stunted beside her, to casting long and slanted behind her. Had walked long enough to scatter four herds of deer, send them fleeing with snorts of terror, walked long enough to grind the splinters in her feet so deep they vanished into her flesh.
There was a sudden thundering, the sound of approaching horse hooves. Splashing, the dragging of worn down wagon wheels. She raised her drooping head only long enough to look across the river, seeing a pitiful looking wagon drawn by a pair of shires, as of yet unaware of her presence, before fleeing. It was a pitiful thing, unable to move fast enough to be truly considered 'fleeing', her feet dragging and slow, unable to muster the energy to run. But she stumbled off her self-created path, abandoned the river and vanished into the treeline.
The surrounding trees swam and weaved, wobbling until she was made to still, standing and swaying in place as she waited for them to do the same. Black spots were dancing at the edges of her vision, and she wheezed pathetically for each breath. But she forced herself on, as soon as they had, desperately attempting to distance herself from the sound of hoofbeats and wagon-wheels.
Away, away, she needed away.
Every step was a struggle, feet snagging on tree-roots and twigs and rocks and nothing, threatening to send her to the ground. And as she walked the world began to swim, more and more, the sky again beneath her, the ground above her, threatening to dump a world's worth of rock and soil down on her head. But still she staggered ahead, dragging feet catching on everything; in her daze, she carried on.
Would this ever end? Would she ever find a place to rest, to tend her hurts? She didn't know where she was going, or where she was at, or what had happened. Didn't even know why she was running, why the horses had sent her fleeing, why she had been so desperate to get away.
There was a loud snap! and for a moment she thought something had broken. Nothing hurt, but everything hurt and so maybe the pain was just covered up, so she continued on. Or, at least, tried to. Something clenched tight around her foot, and it did hurt this time, as though there were something sharp digging into her ankle. It gave beneath her, and she dropped to the ground, breath leaving her in a grunt.
The black spots that had been eating at her vision grew larger, and she blinked blearily, the greens and blues and browns around her blurring together until she fell into blissful nothingness.