Emma lands hard on dry, rocky ground; pain at the impact radiating up her spine when her legs crumple and she falls the rest of the way in a heap. For a few seconds she simply lies there, unmoving, trying to regain the breath that has been knocked out of her. It isn't long, however, before survival instinct flares to life once more and she pushes herself up to a standing position, looking around and struggling to find anything she might recognize.
Intellectually, she knows that she had tried to send herself as far away from her loved ones and her new home as possible. She simply couldn't risk the chance that this new dark power curling within her would be more than she could control. At least one thing seems to be going right for her; the Dark Curse may be tingling, slithering under her skin, but it is not overwhelming. She is still in her right mind, and though the evil may simply be biding its time, she does not feel driven to do anything violent or reprehensible.
It isn't until she really takes stock of her surroundings that she begins to feel her heartrate kick up a notch and worry come rushing back to fill her mind. The sky overhead is turning a sickening, foreboding grey-green – the sort of color that would have warned them to batten down hatches and listen for tornado sirens back in the real world. Wind whips her hair into a more wild and tangled mess than the fingers of the darkness had made when it swallowed her up in its claws. She is nearly bowled over as she stands trying to figure out her next move.
Glancing to her right, she can see from minimal shelter of the straggling trees that form the edge of a small forest where she has landed. An unexpected, probably half-hysterical snort of laughter almost escapes at the sudden urge to quote 'The Wizard of Oz'. Wherever she is, she certainly isn't in Kansas – or Maine – anymore. It would seem she isn't even in the 21st century. The village she sees before as she turns to study it more closely resembles one of the homely little outposts where the serfs and peasants scratch out a living in one of those movies about knights and wizards and kings…. The thought sets off a thrill of anxious adrenaline in her mind. Could it be that she has taken herself exactly where she needed to go? She is no expert, but she knows enough of Camelot legends to assume it would be the first place to look for the Sorcerer, Merlin. Is that where she is?
Emma doesn't have much time to ponder the possibility. The wind has begun to shriek and howl all around her, flinging dirt and loose twigs against her body as it hurls them along in its path. She has to get out of the open, find some cover before she is hit with something that causes permanent damage or gets literally carried away. She wishes desperately she could head for the village; it isn't that far off. Surely someone would take pity on a person who is as obviously bedraggled, lost, and vulnerable to this storm as she must look. Her instinctive fear of what she might do – what she could do if the darkness flares up within her suddenly – won't allow it though.
Forcing herself not to get lost in self-pity or to give into the frightened, weary tears that want to escape her eyes, Emma turns away from the simple little thatched roofed homes and plunges further into the forest behind her. The trees grow thicker and provide a bit more cover as she wanders deeper in their midst. However, when torrents of rain begin to dump from the sky above in a soaking deluge, the branches and leaves cannot completely shield her, and it isn't long before she is soaked to the skin and shivering uncontrollably.
Long, helpless minutes tick by as she trudges on, looking for someplace sheltered where she can escape the rain and warm herself. She is exhausted; her body aches from the hard landing in this realm, from the pain of light and dark pushing and pulling, warring within her. Her heart aches for Killian's arms and for Henry's soft hair under her hand as he wraps his arms around her waist in a hug. Sniffling, she wishes for David's steadying hand to cradle the back of her head reassuringly and for Mary Margaret's soft palms on her cheeks, cradling her face as she beams at her in a way only a mother can. Shivers begin wracking her body in the ever-darkening woods, and Emma can feel her teeth chattering violently enough that she fears biting through her own tongue.
She is about to stumble to her knees, frighteningly certain that she might stay where she has fallen, when she sees a cave opening just a few feet before her. In the dismal light and the moss that nearly hides its entrance, she might have trudged right on past it, but luckily she didn't. This might just be her saving grace.
Throwing herself inside, Emma clambers in the pitch-blackness that engulfs her, feeling her way with hands on the dank rock walls until she senses that she has reached the back of the small space. It would seem to be deserted, and she is not going to talk herself out of the only shelter she has seen for fear that some wild animal or other person might happen to be in there too. She can only stay out there growing chilled to the bone and wandering aimlessly for so long if she plans to live long enough to find Merlin or have those she loves find her.
With her back pressed against the rough cave wall, Emma slides down the surface until she is sitting, arms wrapped tightly around herself, trembling and shaking, hoping that being in out of the wet will allow her to regain at least a bit of warmth. She could use her magic. It would be all too easy to conjure a small fire now, with the amount of power accessible at her fingertips. Still, she holds herself back, afraid that if she uses even a bit of it before she is sure just how much control she has retained, the price could be terrible. Would the inferno swallow the whole cave and her along with it? Would it stretch out to engulf the whole forest and burn that village and its innocent inhabitants to the ground? She can't know, and so she forces herself to do nothing, simply huddles in the dark and trying not to freeze.
Her skin has gone icy cold, and her eyes are fluttering, starting to shut with a lethargy that she knows can't mean anything good, when she hears a voice whispering to her. 'Light a fire, Swan. You must get warm. I know you can control it…I've yet to see you fail.'
She shakes her head against Killian's voice at first, the deep, lovely brogue she can practically feel as a caress against her chilled skin unmistakable as anyone else. Unfortunately, she knows that he is more concerned with her survival than the possible risks. How can she be hearing his voice anyway? She's out of her head, delirious, that must be it…
Emma slumps over on her side, trying fruitlessly to curl in on herself and find some rest. But the insistent, lilting voice won't leave her be, this time yelling in her head and jerking her momentarily from her stupor. 'Emma! No! You must light a fire! I won't have you dying before I can rescue you!'
Hazily, she remembers another dark path of rock, running through the dungeons beneath Regina's castle and almost careening right into Killian, her father, and Ruby, foiling his 'dashing rescue'. A lethargic smile flits over her face, the rainwater still tracking down her cheeks washing it away again the next instant. "Fine, stubborn pirate…" she slurs softly, though no one can hear. "Just a small one… it's on you if anyone gets hurt."
Her hand barely moves as she summons a small flame from her palm. The little blaze catches and settles to the floor just before her, and Emma immediately feels a small bit of the warmth emanating from it. She scoots as close to her fire as she dares, welcoming even the slightest retreat of the cold.
Pillowing her head on her arms, Emma slowly slips out of wakefulness, hoping that tomorrow will find her with some idea of what to do, where to go, how to get out of this lonely place and back where she belongs. She is already asleep when the tremors ease and she warms enough to be out of immediate danger. As she sleeps, the storm outside is pushed from her awareness, the one within forgotten, as she dreams of blue eyes, an archly raised brow, and a gleaming silver hook…of the man she hopes will bring her home.