As soon as she saw the fabric tear, Tilda gripped his hand, needing no encouragement to get to the door fast enough, though her skirts seemed to have no trouble slowing her down. The stitch in her side had grown, and she nearly doubled over at the door. She heard him mutter a spell under his breath before looking up to see him shoulder the door open, wheeling around to grab her already outstretched hand and pull her in. Her legs had nearly turned to jelly by this point, and she clumsily stumbled through the doorway, only breathing a sigh of relief when she heard the cottage door slam.
Though they were safe from the elements outside, Tilda immediately noticed how damp and cold it was inside. Though there must not have been anyone using the cottage for quite some time, it still was minimally furnished. A scrape on the floor told her he had put something in front of the door to keep it from busting in. Still taking deep breaths of fresh air, Tilda looked up to him. He was rather soaked through, but she was certain she looked like a drowned kneezle at this point. Better looking like a drowned kneezle than being one.
At his inquiry, Tilda nodded, still moving forward to take his hand. "Ah!" for the umpteenth time that evening, she stumbled forward, catching herself on his outstretched hand before realizing there was a burning sensation on her calf. She looked down at her skirts. There was a clean rip where he'd severed the fabric from the branch, leaving her calf exposed, her stocking half torn down it. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a trickle of bright red blood running where the spell must have caught it in their haste to get out of the storm.
Though they were safe from the elements outside, Tilda immediately noticed how damp and cold it was inside. Though there must not have been anyone using the cottage for quite some time, it still was minimally furnished. A scrape on the floor told her he had put something in front of the door to keep it from busting in. Still taking deep breaths of fresh air, Tilda looked up to him. He was rather soaked through, but she was certain she looked like a drowned kneezle at this point. Better looking like a drowned kneezle than being one.
At his inquiry, Tilda nodded, still moving forward to take his hand. "Ah!" for the umpteenth time that evening, she stumbled forward, catching herself on his outstretched hand before realizing there was a burning sensation on her calf. She looked down at her skirts. There was a clean rip where he'd severed the fabric from the branch, leaving her calf exposed, her stocking half torn down it. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a trickle of bright red blood running where the spell must have caught it in their haste to get out of the storm.
![[Image: ohwRsWh.jpg]](https://i.imgur.com/ohwRsWh.jpg)