Herriman supposed the situation could have been worse. It became instantly apparent to him that he had underestimated Priroda's own strength. In his defense, she really did look like a weak little girl. He knew that he would be one to speak, but he hated things like totally supernatural strength, mostly because you never saw it coming. Someone could be weedy and just over five feet tall, yet be able to lift boulders with a single arm. 

However, the situation did favor him.

He had been anticipating some sort of magical attack for a while now, and when it came, he was prepared for it. When the vine erupted from the earth, Herriman released a sudden burst of raw energy, taking advantage that Priroda was trying to interdict his body motions and ruin his footwork by staying close to him and hanging onto her sickle. At the same time that he released the explosion of energy, he lashed out with his mutated whip-arm, intent on wrapping it around and sinking the fleshooks into her dreadfully exposed arm (the one holding the sickle) in a bid to keep her at the epicenter of the blast.

The burst of energy was a cacophonous explosion of technicolor lightning and screaming protoplasms from other dimensions, washing over everything within a ten foot radius. Rocks would warp and grow fleshy features, grass would twist and gain a mind of its own, and the vine summoned by Priroda was rendered into a cruel mockery of itself, a tentacle covered with spikes. Free from control, the vinetacle shrieked before dropping dead on the ground. Only the gods could know what would happen to Priroda