Vines or Rope

The short sword her former crew had left her with did little to aid Lost in her construction efforts, but it was still an improvement over her own bare hands.  She quickly resigned herself to the fact that tonight's shelter would have to be simple and temporary.  The current goal was safety, as best as could be achieved, considering the circumstances; comfort would have to come later. Hacking at low branches and vines soon yielded a small cache of resources.  The vines were not all that different in texture from the rigging aboard the Compass; upon tying a knot that was second nature to her, there was a catch in her throat as her eyes flicked briefly out towards the shore.  The familiar was dangerous, here.  It was a lie.  The vine was superficially similar to the ropes she had handled above the seas, but they were not the ropes of the Rusty Compass, no matter how much it felt that way when she blinked and could not see her surroundings.  Thus far, the vines has not hidden any thorns to prick her, but there was no way of knowing what would be found as she continued her tasks.  Diligence was needed, not the distraction of motor memories.