[The Drifter would be cutting their way free with more alacrity, if the fatigue had not settled so thoroughly into their bones. Their breaths are even more pained and rasping than usual. Half-sunken into the texture of the vines that so hungrily cocooned them before, they can only paw feebly at them until the familiar blur of the Knight's nail cuts silver streaks across their vision.]
[For once, they can accept the help gracefully. At least as gracefully as they are able. It's possible they simply do not have the wherewithal for anything but the adrenalinzed burst to simply get out of the clutches of the vines and the horrible sensation of their rotten plant-matter draped across their shoulders.]
[They're already coughing spurts of bright pink as they scramble free.]
[Their stint in the dream world has done them any favors.]
no subject
[For once, they can accept the help gracefully. At least as gracefully as they are able. It's possible they simply do not have the wherewithal for anything but the adrenalinzed burst to simply get out of the clutches of the vines and the horrible sensation of their rotten plant-matter draped across their shoulders.]
[They're already coughing spurts of bright pink as they scramble free.]
[Their stint in the dream world has done them any favors.]