Vena starts to say something and sneezes. More than once. "I think it went ub my nose," she complains, and allows Guts to help haul her out. "What are you looking at?"

She is a mess, not that she'd been completely clean or put together to start. Overlaying scorch marks on her clothing there's some water and oil and who knows what else from the dishes, the decomposed thatch from the roof, and now she is wearing a good portion of the haystack. Vena, largely unselfconscious, takes down what's left of her updo so she can fingercomb her hair and get some of it out. She does of course neglect her scalp. Pieces of hay stick out at wild angles.

"Where'd I... oh!" And she's going to go pick up the tray again.