Ford recognized the voice (but even if he hadn't, how many people did he know who might start a sentence with hang thee?) and was doubly mortified that one of the onlookers he had expected was someone he knew. Barnaby would bring this up at least four or five times over the next month, probably — if Ford was particularly unlucky, there might even be a song composed about it. Merlin.

Get up, right, why hadn't I thought of that? You're a real life saver, Barnaby Wye, he thought savagely, but couldn't voice it as the gnome had just put its tiny little foot down hard on the middle of his windpipe. Ford coughed and swung his fist at the gnome again, this time connecting solidly. The creature was knocked down, and where it went next Ford neither knew nor cared. He scrambled to his knees, still sputtering to try and recover from the kick to his throat. Barnaby had said shield her, and that seemed sensible enough to Ford. The situation certainly needed to be de-escalated, and he didn't have any better ideas. He'd been functionally blind for the last few seconds, and even before that he hadn't been in the right state of mind to do anything productive; better just follow directions until he had a handle on himself again.

So he climbed back to his feet and lurched after her. His first few steps were unsteady, but then he found his footing and started jogging to try and catch up with her. The scrap of her petticoat was still half-wrapped around one of his arms, but since it wasn't slowing him down he didn't bother stopping to untangle it yet. He would have called out that he intended to help her, but he hadn't quite got his vocal chords back yet, and — what was he actually planning to do to help, anyway? He hadn't figured it out yet. He coughed again and picked up the pace.

---