She'd expected him to say something first but instead she found herself swept in his arms, startled and now clinging to him as he easily carried her over to the armchair that sat in front of the extinguished fireplace. As he stooped to put her down on the chair, Tilda - still breathless from their trek up to the cottage among...other things - realized that the delicious sea-salt, leather scent she was smelling was him, and her cheeks bloomed with mortification. Luckily, he was too focused on her calf to examine her face; not a thought she even remotely suspected she'd be having at a time like this. Given the impropriety of the action, she knew she should be more upset about displaying her partially naked leg to him instead of being grateful that he wasn't focused on her cheeks.

"It's quite alright," She heard herself say weakly, as she pressed her palms to her cheeks, feigning wiping her face of the rain yet actually hoping the cold of her hands would coax the blush away. "We were rather pressed for time, after all." As if to emphasize her point, there was a gust of wind that rattled the door, now blocked by the chair Mr. Scamander had put in front of it.

Glancing back down at her leg, she wished she had her healer's supplies. "I can tend to it, I just need a few things."It was no matter, however, seeing as she could conjure a few rags to wipe away the blood. Thank Merlin her wand had miraculously stayed in her dress' pockets this whole time. She had a horrific moment when she thought it had been lost to the sea. Her gratification at finding her wand lasted only however long it took her to raise it and conjure some supplies.

There was a massive groaning and Tilda looked up, confused. She hadn't conjured a cloth but instead had managed to summon a rather large...tree trunk. That was about to fall right on top of her.

With a shriek of surprise, she lunged the only way she could. Forward. She collided with Mr. Scamander, taking the both of them down as the tree trunk dropped with an almighty crash on top of the armchair she'd just been sitting on. Clouds of dust engulfed the both of them as rocks and pebbles from the trunk pinged every which way - off the walls, windows, and the fireplace in front of them. Coughing, Tilda kept her face down to avoid inhaling even more dust. As the dust slowly cleared, Tilda rose her head, blinking rapidly through the settling debris. "Are you alright..." Her voice died in her throat as she realized that she hadn't been burying her face in the carpet on the floor, but in Mr. Scamander's chest; now finding herself closer to him than she had ever found herself to any man.

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