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Enter one Lydia Stiles, who just happened to be walking along the edge of the training fields with her nose buried in a notebook, flipping through the pages, scanning, jotting notes, and scanning yet more. She was not, of course, paying much attention to where she was actually going, so she did not, of course, see the small hole in the ground before managing to catch the toe of her boot inside of it, which, of course sent her hurtling forward in a stumble full of flailing limbs and a loud squawk of sudden, terrified surprise as she attempted to right herself before she could take a face plant in the dirt.

Too late. Nose met ground. Small whimpers and groans soon followed suit as she got her arms underneath her and pushed herself up enough to roll over onto her back, a displeased look on her face.

To add insult to injury, somebody who recognized her had seen her, and was now calling at her from far away. Groaning as she rolled over enough to stare at the sky, she tried to discern if she recognized the voice, only moments before a face, and a rather burly and hairy arm came into view (though she had to squint to see it).

"Oh! Hi Dawson!" She seemed to perk up remarkably well considering her situation, as she reached up a hand to clutch at his arm, using it to haul herself up into a sitting position.

"You ah, haven't happened to see where my notebook went?" She asked, head whipping back and forth to have a look around, her eyesight quite blurred.

Apparently her glasses had gone skipping off somewhere as well.