She stares in wonder... a Christmas tree. The Christmas Carroll she was singing.
Wow, she needs to think about this. How much of the manifestation is based on her feelings, her actions, her thoughts? Is there a strong relation between how this world moves and changes around and any one part of her, or is it more a probabilistic affair, or - even more dizzying - an associatively pattern-matching kaleidoscope.
That last option would be a little daunting, and truly more reminiscent of an LSD trip than anything else. Though maybe that is the right frame to consider.
Could she use this experience as a chance for personal growth? There are some risks. Like with any drug, she might step off the metaphorical roof cause she believes she can fly. Reality generally has pretty adversarial opinions on that sort of thing.
She wishes she had a better way to tether herself to that underlying reality. How can she know if the ground is where she thinks it is when the world is scrambling the input signal?
She bites her lip. Her thoughts have run down and no clear answer presented itself. Some heuristics might help though. Some handles to focus her attention on.
First of all, keeping her spirits up seems key. Focusing on the light motes that helped her and did not hurt her, led her to more wonder and beauty. Being prepared also seems to help. That rope really came in handy.
"Oh shit", she breathes. She realizes she left the vine rope at the big tree. Retracing her steps does not seem appealing though. Better to learn to keep track of her gear from now on.
She looks around, and considers treating the light motes as sentience. They have been friendly and beautiful. It seems like a clearly winning move to empower whatever factions in this world are benevolent to her.
So she smiles, and nods at the motes as they flow past her. Next she holds out her hand.
Do any of them land on her? Do any of them give her any sensation except warmth? She specifically focuses on conceptualizing the motes as little animals with minds of their own with tiny inner worlds filled with simple and endearing emotions like little... birds? Curious, helpful, beautiful. Maybe a bit of a hive mind, considering how they move and coalesce and seem to lack any personal identity.
Can she speak to them?
"Hey there," she whispers softly.