Fortune favours the foolish. In her head, she sees the sequence...
Drop forward, carry on the pretense of the fall. At the last second, twist.. Spin and roll, momentum and inertia becoming the poetry of motion.. Legs up, scissor open, catch the neck to strangle..
Wait.
Undead. Duh. Crushing the trachea will just make it need to use sign language...
Argh. Right... A heartbeat wasted.. Start the fall, think fast..
Falling, thinking furiously...
A simple mule kick up, try to connect with the center body mass.. If I run it right... Just maybe, I can roll out and get my hands in front of me.. Either way, follow the air.. Try to get OUT!
She moves...
((What do you need me to roll, Sorrow?))