Those Masts All Have Leaves and I Don't Appreciate It

Oh for the love of Andraste's great heaving bosom,..

[She scowls to herself, shaking out the long boot again. This was the third time today she'd had to stop and pull the wretched (though incredibly stylish, she reminds herself) thing off, wrestling impatiently with each and every buckle and clip.

It was worse than the time Merrill had taken a fascination with dropping marbles down them, and tiny twigs and burrs seemed far more difficult to dislodge from the yawning darkness of the boots.

Perfect for keeping the sun off her legs and staying dry through salt spray, utterly useless in the depths of the forest she supposed. She had planted herself rather unceremoniously in the middle of wherever she had ended up, forest floor unfortunately no comfortable seat and pine needles proving to be just as prickly as the tree litter that had buried in her boot.

So that explained why she ended up flopped out on the forest floor, one boot held aloft above her face as she shook it, one very bare leg crossed over the other and scowling profusely as she yelled into it,]

If you know whats good for you, you tiny little prick, you'll get out of there in a hurry!