Fiona senses a large hand grab her collar behind her neck. “That's
enturely enough of that,” a deep, resonant voice she hasn't heard
before says. Before she can react, she feels herself hauled
backwards, up and through the air. The shadowy jumble of figures
before her recede quickly, though their words continue to whip and
flap in the air around her. It's like she's being dragged through a
bush of half mumbled phrases, each snapping and flicking at her
hapless journey. She struggles to grasp at anything solid, desperate
to halt her rearwards trajectory, but there's nothing to grasp hold
of. She quickly realises that for now her movements are not her own,
and so she tries to relax and wait for her journey to stop.
