She knew who she was now. Sort of. Just a name wasn't really much to go off on, but when she had nothing else, it was good enough. It was a funny name, honestly; what type of person (not including her) would base their name off bridges? Brook rested her head back against the leathery bark of the tree trunk. Her eyes lazily watched light filter through the leaf cover above. There was no point in wondering about the name. It was all she had, and she wasn't really interested in ditching parts of her ... self/persona/identity just because she thought they sounded a bit weird. Too much of an effort, anyway.

Her breaths were more relaxed now. She could see her chest rising and falling with each one in the bottom of her eyes, the movement of her breasts and upper torso rather mesmerising. Isolation, she realised, now that her brain wasn't going kaplooey in attempts to find out more than just "Brooklyn Bridges" in her memories, was pretty boring, and she was focusing a lot on tangible things to distract herself. Like the texture of the tree behind her. Of the coldness of the dirt she was sitting on. Of the rustling leaves in the wind. Of her own breathing. Of the clouds lazily floating in the sky.

Maybe she should stop looking at nature and try and find out where she is.

But it was warm, the shade was protecting her from the sun, and the tree was comfortable.

Also she felt too lazy to move.