In Storybrooke, Mr. Gold strives to be the man Bae used to love--until Belle is kidnapped to Neverland. If he resumes his Dark One powers to save her, can he control them? In the Enchanted Forest, Emma battles ogres, zombies and her ex to get back h...
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Mary-Margaret Blanchard (Snow White): Why can't you just listen to me? (Lady of the Lake).
Snow answered the stony look on Emma's face by crossing her arms. Everyone in harm's way had slid through the lightning sand to safety. Peter Pan, circling above them, didn't count. With zombies smashing up the Lost Boys camp just beyond the narrow strip of swamp cypress, her daughter needed to stop being pigheaded.
So Snow brought out the big guns. "I'm your mother. Hook up to the rope. When I say go, you go."
"You're one year older than me," Emma answered. "Don't treat me like a baby."
But you are my baby. Snow waffled. Was her essential motherly duty protecting her daughter or promoting her independence? Hard to decide considering how little experience she had and what a distracting racket the zombies were making. She winced at the clatter as another lean-to became rubble.
Then, with a whoosh, Peter lit down beside her daughter. "You first, Snow. Emma and I have been in tight spots before. I've got her back and she's got mine."
Three days ago Emma said you stole her youth, her self-respect, and her sanity. Now you say you've got her back?
But her daughter nodded at Peter's words, adding, "We know how the other thinks. We're a team."
The marvel of Peter's taming of the ROUS flashed into Snow's mind. He and her daughter had certainly made a dazzling duo.
"And the quicker you go," Peter added, picking up the rope, "the quicker I can send Emma after you."
The clamor from the camp was lessening-not a good sign. Nodding, Snow threaded her belt through the nearest ring on the pulley. She pealed another wet cloth off her stack, checked that two were left, then blew out her breath. She inhaled deeply, expanding her lungs, pushing out her chest and lifting her shoulders to create the largest capacity possible.
With one last look at Emma, then at the sandpit, Snow slapped the wet cloth around her head and grasped the ends. Utter darkness. Without waiting another second, she grabbed the rope with her other hand and leapt.
Immediately, the fine sand slid up Snow's pant legs and shirt as she sped at a downward angle into the pit. She recalled Inigo's instructions. Feet first, feet first. As fast as she could, she maneuvered to grasp the rope in front of her with her knees and aimed the soles of her boots in the direction of travel. That was the only way to avoid some more delicate part of her body hitting the rock where the opening to the next chamber angled upwards.
For another second, the sand rushed past her. Then boom, her boots struck rock. The pulley stopped moving. She let go of the rope, groped with one hand for the entry to their safe haven and ducked her head into it. To go up, she angled her feet down. Once she could feel the sides of the spout-like passage Inigo had described, she tugged the rope twice again.
