Why the water bottle—

"I really don't like it when you do that."

Somewhat predictably, her Typhon doesn't reply.

Well. Onward.

Onward!

Navigating after being shunted somewhere completely different is a bit tricky, but she's not actually too far away from her last conscious location. She's near the orange web stuff. It might be possible to retrace her steps to retrieve one of the water bottles she found but didn't take, but it also might not be worth the trouble.

It's not like she has an urgent appointment elsewhere.

Then she can retrieve a water bottle after a bit of trouble!

Now what would she like to do?

Head south again, by a different route.

There's some more orange light stuff by this route, and another garbled not-human voice.

"- eggs, can't forget the eggs, she's still on that baking kick -"

Unsettling. She avoids the voice.

...

No she doesn't.

She abruptly changes locations, but the Typhon bothers to put her back in roughly the same area.

And now there isn't a voice to avoid!

—hm. So her Typhon eats those too, whatever they are.

Apparently so!

One of the available ways south involves passing through a lot of the orange light - it covers the entire street. It'd be a bit of a detour to go around it, but she probably can if she wants to.

The orange light has seemed mostly harmless so far. She goes that way, cautiously.

It still subtly tingles a little when she passes through it, but no space spiders make themselves apparent.

... Her Typhon seems nervous, though. It doesn't stop her or turn her around, but it keeps borrowing her eyes to check the area.

... If she looks around really thoroughly herself, can she get it to stop doing that.

She can! It stops doing that.

The orange web of light is getting bigger and bigger, now. It's kind of hard to continue without being entirely engulfed by it. Would she like to proceed?

She's more concerned about visibility than about being engulfed. As long as she can still see through it, it's probably fine.

It's not so thick that it's impossible to see through, though visibility might start to become an issue soon.

As her head passes through an orange wisp, she feels - something. An echo of something, a flutter of sensation that flows through her. She feels - not her vocal cords, but a set of phantom vocal cords that aren't attached to her - hum. She can hear an echo of the sound itself, but it's not coming from her ears. Instead it's like a memory, or a dream. The phantom vocal cords experimentally change their pitch, and the phantom sound changes with it. The result is almost pretty, in a haunting sort of way.

What.

What happens if she walks through more of it—?

More un-sounds, more arrangements for vocal cords that she doesn't have. Some of the sounds and arrangements aren't things humans could make, and the arrangements of vocal cords aren't things humans have. She can feel the configurations in more detail than she can feel her own set of vocal cords, feel every vibration that reverberates down the phantom appendage, feel how each slightly different arrangement changes the sound.

She finds herself humming softly, trying to capture the tune.

The tune is a semi-systematic scale through available sounds, with occasional breaks in the scale that can probably be attributed to her head not entirely engulfing all portions of the orange light, or a change in the vocal cord arrangement. It's more like something is studying the process of making noise with vocal cords instead of using them with any real intent.

She shifts the timing slightly to turn it into something more memorable and hums it as she leaves the patch of light.