[Maybe, he thinks as he falls. Maybe he could have regained his balance; maybe he could have fallen forwards instead of backwards; maybe he could have reached out with his capture cloth and pulled her down with him. Maybe, maybe, maybe, but it doesn't really matter. What matters is what's happening now: he's falling, and the moment those vines touch him he'll be caught.
So. So . . . he can't be caught.
But it's too late to grab onto one of those branches and safely hoist himself up; even if he could, she's waiting with that knife, and unlike in most situations, he can't risk even a cut.
So what he does is this: his cloth snaps out, snagging one of the lowest branches and yanking. The momentum forces him forward, turning his freefall into a guided thing, until he can at least stumblingly land on his feet. Those vines move in an instant, but he's already racing forward, dodging and weaving, keeping his head craned upward to try and track her.]
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So. So . . . he can't be caught.
But it's too late to grab onto one of those branches and safely hoist himself up; even if he could, she's waiting with that knife, and unlike in most situations, he can't risk even a cut.
So what he does is this: his cloth snaps out, snagging one of the lowest branches and yanking. The momentum forces him forward, turning his freefall into a guided thing, until he can at least stumblingly land on his feet. Those vines move in an instant, but he's already racing forward, dodging and weaving, keeping his head craned upward to try and track her.]