Of course they can't imagine everything!  They can't even handle the logical implications of the Principle of Explosion!

But there is a power more conducive to logic, of the two that bear responsibility for the fundament of the realm of Azerosa, and it embraces the newcomer as it embraces and unifies all things.

Unfortunately for Weeping Cherry, the timeless places and placeless times are not done with her just yet -

- but Azerosa knows something of what to do with spirits, for all that this universe and its environs are not precisely conscious enough to have such things as knowledge or opinions - and so Weeping Cherry awakens to a very strange experience indeed.

The only constant of the Twisting Nether, you see, is change.

The effectors of her forb ripple not with quantum fluctuations and harnessed lightning, but light and shadow, as they hold Weeping Cherry together despite the vast and merciless change in even their well-ordered substrate.  It is their purpose, and so they shall.

But everything else around her?  For the brief moments she can detect any of it, tumbling rapidly anawards as her locus of being is, it is constantly in flux.  Her own passage leaves ripples in its wake, washing up on unknown shores.

The moment her conveyance pierces through the aperture of a ritual summoning with a sensation best described as sploit, still wobbling around an imaginary threenth axis and thereby tumbling on a wild arc into space as reality asserts itself, is probably best described as a much-needed relief.

Far beneath her - though not, by the forb's model of gravity, for overlong - is a shining jewel: a whole new world.

The world has many disparate environments she is high enough to aim for, with a bit of a nudge.  Does she have one in mind?

The first thing she sees are the diagnostic messages from her forb.

Damage sustained, Recovery failed, the forb tells her in large friendly letters.

The view behind them is what captures her attention, though: a jeweled planet hanging in space. Although, on reflection it's not so much hanging as approaching rapidly.

Collision imminent, the forb agrees.

"Shoot!" she exclaims. At the speed I'm going, should I aim for the water? Probably that will be more survivable than lithobraking, she tells herself.

She picks a large body of water that looks deep and not surrounded by mountains, and crosses her (simulated) fingers.

She can see more than that if she looks!  Though it's not like she has to.

The Water is quite happy to accept her -

- though there is a strange absence of Fire from her descent through the Air, and the currents buffet her with curiosity as she falls.

"... what?" she asks herself.

Even at great speeds, it takes a time to fall through a planet's atmosphere. So she has time to notice the complete lack of compression heating.

The forb's navigation algorithms, fine-tuned to expect more resistance than this, wobble and overcorrect before falling back to a simple Newtonian approximation in the hopes that that will be, if not accurate, at least accurate enough.

Weeping Cherry looks at the things passing through her tiny range. There is recognizable light, of course, but is there anything else? Is there an atmosphere, and what is it made of?

Of course there's atmosphere!  It's made of Air!  (Of Life, of Possibility, of Chaos...)

"Okay, this is fine."

Cherry takes a deep breath of lowercase-a air -- oxygen and nitrogen and water vapor appearing in the simulation when she inhales and disappearing to conserve resources when she exhales.

So there is an atmosphere. And it's made of something with smaller components. Just, not it a way where manipulating it causes adiabatic heating.

What happens if she grabs onto one of the constituents of the atmosphere (Life, say) and holds on to it while letting the other constituents continue past her?

Screaming!  Okay, not literal screaming, but - there is something that can only be described as a rent torn into the fabric of reality, as Life succumbs to grasping Death and all that is left is raw, undirected Decay.

It feels outright sickening to look upon.

That said, it does at least help her crystal, washing over the cracked fragments soothingly as Life meets Order and mends.

"Aaah!"

You know what? In retrospect maybe she should not be doing the equivalent of nuclear physics experiments on a new dimension while falling uncontrollably through the atmosphere of a life-bearing planet.

She lets go of the Life.

Unexpected crystal regeneration, her forb says.

She stares at the alien atmosphere swirling past her for a moment before she re-gains some focus.

"On the other hand, maybe that means a water landing is less survivable than I expected," she thinks to herself.

...

What happens if she grabs all of the constituents of the Air she can reach simultaneously?

She's holding onto some air now!  ...This isn't as helpful as one might expect, but this does seem to be closer to a way of slowing her fall!

She looks at her forb's navigation feed and estimated time-to-impact.

Did grabbing the Air slow her at all, just not enough?

What happens if she tries throwing the air ahead of her like a little rocket, or holding it by her sides and spinning it to try and create a vortex? She's pretty sure that's how a hummingbird generates lift.

She can certainly do that!

Wheeeeeee!

That said, the impact timer...is not exactly getting much more delta-t from these maneuvers?

Which isn't to say they don't work, but it is to say that she's still missing something.