This again. She didn't have much patience for this conversation the first time; she definitely doesn't have the patience for it, now. "The Woods," she snaps. "That's what this place is called. If you don't like it, don't let me keep you."

Despite Greta's growing exasperation, the sounds of the giant are fading away. The ground no longer trembles beneath their feet, and a few birds have resumed singing. The air of the Woods still seems to hang more heavily than it ought to, but there's no longer a pervading sense of impending doom. She clambers down a little incline and finds her feet on something that looks as if it might be the Path. Better and better. Without pause, all but ignoring the stranger, she starts down it.