Considering she now knows what to expect, Fíadh should be perfectly prepared for the unavoidable collision. Except she's not. Except now she dreads the inevitable sensation even more. And when the next one passes through her it takes everything in her willpower to keep breathing, each intake of air a sharp gasp. But in seconds (Minutes? It feels like minutes) it passes and keeps going, and she's still here. I'm still here.

So she moves forward, one foot at a time, and though each jolt of cold and terror is just as jarring as the last she pushes on with the rest of them. She's going to end this and nothing will stop her.