She was positive -- mostly positive -- that she was supposed to [i]be[/i] somewhere, only that somewhere could have been virtually anywhere, and so positivity helped naught. 

"Well," Sophie chuckled aloud as she dangled from the lowest branches of a stout apple tree, her silver hair catching mud and dew in the grass, "I suppose it can't be anywhere. I know for certain that we're not meant to be meeting on the moon, nor the bottom of the ocean, so that's two down." 

Four an a half feet above her head, a squirrel, likely doing that thing squirrels do, squirreling away things for the coming winter, despite the fantastic weather, ran across her shins where they hooked at her knee over a limb that had been previously bowed low with ripe apples. 

Sophie didn't even think as her soft features became at once more lupine and she lunged, however playfully, at the tiny rodent. And she had always been fast, but agility and balance were new gifts, a lá her new lycanthropy, and not quite as inherent as one might like to believe. She'd actually wrapped a hand around the tiny beast's tail before remembering she was dangling from a tree and crashing the rest of the way to the ground. 

The way she swore might have been called unladylike if the tattered apron she wore over overlong breeches had not been dangling in her face for the last quarter of an hour. She lay, curled on the ground, lightly dazed, and giggling at her own ineptitude, her hair creating a silver-white halo around her in the dark grass. The squirrel overhead chittered quite pompously, and Sophie felt she had no choice but to stick her tongue out. 

She could feel the remnant dampness of the grass beneath her soaking into the borrowed dress from the tavern where she'd stayed the night. There was a reason she'd borrowed a dress. She was supposed to look 'presentable'. That had been the word given to her when Abigail -- oh! Abigail! The circle! The council! The...well, it was something beginning with a c, and given that the sun was already kissing the sky goodnight, she could more than figure she was running late. 

She scrambled to her feet with a grace that might have surprised anyone who'd seen her tumble out of the tree and all but darted from the edges of the orchard to the depths of the Council's waiting chambers, colliding with more than one patron on her way. Again, her speed was admirable, but by the time she reached the chambers, she was no longer nearly as presentable as she'd originally intended. 

A shame, however uncomfortable and boring 'presentable' might have been. And now Abigail would never even know she'd tried.