Blundering through the woods with a hurried, uneasy gait comes Aziraphale. This dream has been almost uniformly unpleasant, excluding one experience he's wishing he hadn't stopped having. At this point he's rather desperate to get out of it - the woods, if getting out of the dream isn't on the menu of possibilities. He worries that if he stops for just a moment someone else he doesn't want to greet will greet him, a fear that contributes to his overall lack of spatial awareness.

It is Orisa, the ball python draped loosely around his shoulders, who finally raises her head and snaps, "Watch it!"

A little too late: Aziraphale collides with the other tall, skinny shape, jostling Orisa who makes her distaste very well known in a series of wordless hisses, and he staggers back, waving his arms.

"Dear me, I - I'm sorry," he stammers. Does he recognize this stranger? No. Not necessarily a good thing. "Are you all right?"