(OOC: For the image below, imagine her in the "box", not on a ship's deck.)

“So, who's inside here?” a male voice asked from outside the crate as it was jostled about in the surf. He asked, “And will I be eating you tonight or milking you so that Stella can make cheese?”

Just as he unfastened the last hook, the door smacked hard against him, sending him backwards into the surf. As a wave washed over him, [url=https://i.imgur.com/HR1pkLB.jpg]Annabelle[/url] rushed out of the box, losing her footing and falling into the same waves as had he. She struggled back to her feet and ran for shore. She hadn't been able to see much from behind the breathing holes, but she'd seen enough to know that there was a thick forest just thirty or forty yards up the beach.

She made it to the wet sand, then the dry, but she was exhausted from weeks of ill-treatment and very quickly ran out of [i]oomph[/i]. She fell to her knees, struggled back to her feet, made it a few yards more, then fell once again. This time, though, she couldn't get up. Instead, Annabelle rolled to her side, closed her eyes, and waited for the worst. The man certainly couldn't milk her but killing her with or without eating her was still quite a possibility.