the initial panic is tempered with cold, everything growing desaturated and small. first steps are to look: debris, people, blood, the signs of grievous malfunction or the eruption of alliance-based backlash. all she finds are a river (it's south, though she has no idea yet what it may be south of) and a book.
by the time she gets to examining the journal, pushing buttons on instinct and the need for communication, she's damp and shivering. ]
Didn't crash her. Entrance velocity on impact would-- [ she stops herself there, backtracks, finds the easier road. ] There'd be fire.
[ it sounds unsure, and then her teeth chatter a little like some involuntary confirmation about the distinct lack of fire or anything resembling fire-related properties. ]
It's cold.
