Snow woke in the woods.
The fire receded slowly, the magic slowly fading and the poison finding ever fewer places to inflict harm. The sun had long since fallen behind the horizon, and the air was unseasonably chill. The trees were thick above her, their new leaves blocking any light the stars and moon may have cast upon her. There was a dampness in the air, promising frost the next morning. The grass was soft beneath her.
As the use of her muscles returned to her, so did her sharp mind. Of three things, she was sure: First, that her step mother had tried to kill her. Second, that she had failed. Third, Lady Adair would pay dearly for that grave oversight.
She slowly rose to her feet, driving away the lingering pains with slow deliberate action. Her dress was dirty, though still intact. Her hands were shaking in the cold, and her silver eyes shone like beacons in the dark.
Her first priority was to live through whatever remained of the night. The cold was unpleasant, but held no danger for her. However, woods are dangerous places. They hold all sorts of creatures and magic that is too dangerous to be allowed to exist alongside people. Some, even, that may be a match for her, as difficult as she was to kill. She must seek shelter.
Unfortunately, though the ground was relatively clear and the air still, no paths, people, or magic was within her range of sight or hearing. Calling for help would only catch the attention of that which she was trying to avoid. The only thing for it, was to pick a direction and hope she got lucky.
The night grew colder and darker around her, and an unnatural silence began to press on her ears. Though she continued to shiver in the cold and squint against the dark, the ground was visible before her, and her limbs did not numb. She continued.