The rain had been relentless that night. Charlisa adjusted her glasses and leaned forward, peering through the blurry windshield of her car. She had always been cautious, but the storm was turning the mountain road into a riverbed. She remembered seeing a flash of light. Then nothing.
When she awoke, it was to birdsong. Not the chirping of city sparrows, but deep, musical calls echoing through towering trees. Her first thought was that she was dreaming. But the rich loamy scent of earth, the chill in the air, and the rough fabric against her skin all felt too real. She was wearing a simple tunic, her body aching as though tossed by waves.
Panic flickered—but Charlisa had spent her life studying forests and flora. She took a breath and examined her surroundings. Her glasses were gone, but her vision had sharpened slightly. Not perfect, but manageable. She stood slowly, testing her limbs. No injuries. No familiar sounds of traffic or voices. Just trees and sky and wind.
A rustle in the underbrush shifted her attention.