Olivia lets out one last choking cough, her hands slipping away from her own ears. Carefully, she presses her palms flat against the dirt and levers herself up.

Nothing broken, nothing sprained, no contusions she can find. She's going to have a hell of a couple of bruises come tomorrow, but the worst seems to have passed.

All of the worst.

"I think it worked," she rasps. Dirt sticks to her hands as she rubs one of them across her face. Lifting her gaze to the tree, and lifting her voice in kind: "Mike?"