Scents
It was cold and wet, and most uncomfortable to be honest.
The musty, soggy earth and stiff blades of grass stabbing purposefully towards the heavens were not suitable bedding, but options were slim and Alice doubted she could lift up her 'roofing' even if she wanted too.
Not only was it awkward in physical terms, but her shelter was a constant reminder of her utter uselessness since falling rather ungracefully down the rabbit hole earlier; earlier being what she remembered as day, though now being so topsy turvy it could have been a month and a fortnight since she left her party.
It smelt of heat, silk, and most of all an obnoxious amount of tea, though to pinpoint what kind would have been impossible.
It was like being in that slippery, porcelain teapot all over again, sans the ridiculous amount of fabric that would have been exceptionally helpful right now, being bedtime and all.
It was a most difficult task to fall asleep, despite the little steps it took to do so.
Close your eyes and relax.
The first was easy.
She half hoped that sleep would bring her to wake from this nightmare.
But the invasive smell, that wafting, sweet earthy smell that pervaded every pore while the moist soil soaked her back was anything but relaxing.
She couldn't assist Hatter when he had so valiantly sprinted through the twisted woods with a clumsy grace, and all she could do was hold on for dear life to the tattered and musty fabric of his pocket, avoiding the trinkets and delicate tools of his craft kept there, and listen as his heartbeat thudded frantically with pronounced panic at her back, mimicking her own.
The smell was there, too.
Stale and herbal and sweet and homely.
Being trapped and exhausted underneath the fragrant hat did give Alice time to think; time which seemed rarer and rarer these days.
Muchness.
Though she had not the slightest clue as to what 'muchness' was, she had enough sense to be concerned and even a little offended to be told she had lost it.
How was she to get back what she didn't even know she had? Not to mention that she was about 3 inches high at best. How was she to attain a sufficient amount of muchness when she was far from the desired height she was when she lost it.
One cannot push a croquet ball into a thimble.
And a Hatter was not a hatter without a hat.
If she did nothing else for him, she would return his most beloved hat somehow; and his head would once again smell of sugar, milk, cream, and whatever concoctions he created with them.
As she finally felt fatigue wash away the stifling thoughts that festered and accumulated within the darkening creases of the top hat, she felt a shift in the air.
From which it came she could not say.
The distinct scent.
Of muchness.