"I'm alright..." she said quietly, though Merlin knew he was quite close enough to hear her. She was surprised he didn't hear how loud her heart had started to beat; whether because of their....proximity or because of almost being crushed to death by a two-ton tree trunk, Tilda honestly couldn't say. For the briefest of moments, it looked like Mr. Scamander was going to burst into laughter. Tilda wouldn't have blamed him if he did - the events of this night so far had so many twists and turns, she would have gladly taken a labyrinth instead.

"Truly poor luck," she replied, the corners of her mouth twitching as she let out a slightly breathless giggle. The absurdity, the horror of the night - she was surprised at her own humor, but there was very little that she could do to fix anything other than try and manage. And the fact that Mr. Scamander was here....somehow it made it more manageable.

It took a minute for Tilda to realize he was waiting for her to get up, for she was quite literally on top of him. "Oh!" Her cheeks flushed again, and she hastily withdrew from him, scrambling gingerly to a respectable distance and preoccupying herself with not thinking about how warm she had been on...

"Try below the cabinets in the kitchens, or if they have a linen closet." Tilda suggested abruptly, sorely tempted to give herself a slap across the face. Instead, she curled inward, her back against the stone-cold wall. Merlin, she couldn't wait to get a fire going. But at this rate, Tilda wondered how long it would even take for her clothes to dry in front of a fire.

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