[ π ] β Luckily, she manages to catch herself before falling flat on her face.
"What?" Oh, she heard, but it isn't often that AM changes his mind once he's presumably made it up. She's immediately thrown off-kilter. Suspicious. It makes her hesitate briefly before following after him.
In the end, she sticks close to him. Closer than she'd like. Not because she suspects she'll garner any protection from him, but because if he thinks to submerge her in croc-infested waters, or trip her over snapping roots, or any number of the terrible things most likely brewing in that fucked up little head, she's at least going to try and take the bastard with her.
It is pretty though. As she follows him through the thick brush, immersing herself in the overgrowth, the sound of running water ( and hell, how cruel that is when she's so damn thirsty all the time ), the feel of clean air that's neither too hot nor too cold, she wonders just what purpose this servesβand that makes her all the more sceptical.
Something bad's coming. Just like always. She just doesn't know what it is yet.
"Uh-huh," she utters dryly, "what do you want from me, praise?" It's supposed to be sharp, and it is, for all of two seconds. There's no denying artistry. "...it's nice. I forgot you can make stuff that isn't a death trap." A pause, followed by a quick amendment: "...on the surface."