Ah, sleep -- it seems no matter the elf, there's a complicated relationship with it. For elves like Legolas, fear; for elves like Merrill, history. And there is magic, of course, danger and power and knowledge -- but currently, Merrill is far more occupied with being awake, the very present fact that she's on top of someone and seems to have smashed the side of her face against the ground.

The other elf, at least, is a bit more graceful upon waking than Merrill is and helps them both up. He's taller than she is and she has to look up to get a proper look at him, smiling and starting to wave her hands. "Oh, I'm fine, really-"

Which is, of course, when a fat droplet of blood falls out of her nose and is promptly followed by a stream. "Ah- oh, okay, it's a bloody nose, that's not so bad-" Either having forgotten that she's wearing her scarf around her neck or not willing to cover it in blood, Merrill quickly raises her hands; one to catch the blood, the other to try and stem the flow.