Greta starts when someone pounds on the door. The Balladeer's hand closes around hers, and she sucks in a breath as she looks for where she set down the scarf - it's there, by the sink, just out of reach, but before she can even try to grab for it, they're somewhere else entirely.

It's just a dream. It doesn't matter. It isn't even real; the real scarf is safe in her apartment. There's no cause for her to be upset. Still, she presses her lips together tightly, relieved that the darkness hides her expression.

She staggers a bit upon landing, both pulled by the Balladeer's stumbling and by the sudden tug of a cold current around her ankles. Goodness. It's a good thing they didn't show up a bit deeper in the river; they might have been bowled right over. "You did it," she says, a bit breathlessly, as she looks out across the river, then towards the nearby shore. It's not the Woods, but it is a wood, and that puts it well above the other places they've been. She slogs up onto the little strip of rocky beach between the water and the undergrowth. "They shouldn't be able to find us here."

She has no idea if that's true, actually, but maybe saying it will make it true.