Fearghas's face itched. A haze filled his thoughts, a darkness his eyes, and grit his mouth. He attempted to spit and eject the offending material from his tongue but his body would not respond. Neither could he raise a hand to relieve the itch on his face which he had determined to be grass. His mind registered no threat or unusual situation despite his apparent paralysis, focused instead entirely on the fact that there were unwanted plants and minerals invading his face.

A burning began to form in Fearghas's body, somewhere below his head. Each second made the pain increase in intensity and size, spreading up and down his form. Noise broke his reverie and his lungs opened along with his mouth, air rushing in to resucitate him before lack of oxygen knocked him unconscious. Quick, soft gasps escaped his lips, accompanied by a shuddering all across his body. The presence that had been clouding his mind cleared, leaving Fearghas in a lucid state.

He screamed, a deep-throated yell of primal fear, hands scrabbling around him as he rolled. In panic for a couple of seconds, his mind slowly came to the realization that he was not about to die. He wasn't falling. But the last memory he had was that of hanging of a cliff face. [i]What the hell is going on?[/i]

Lifting his pained head to glance around him, Fearghas saw that he was in a prairie with several other people, seeming to be in a similar state of confusion. Scrabbling backwards, he trampled a hard object, turning to see that it was his backpack. Eyes crinkled as he tried to affirm that assumption. Slowly opening the bag, he found that a good number of the items inside were damaged in some way, mostly the food-stuffs. Yes, this was his. Returning his attention to the others, he waited, uncertain as to what to do.