A bull whip. It was the only thing Olwyn's hand had managed to close around before she'd had to duck from an axe heading straight for her head, and turned and fled in the opposite direction to the bloodbath. She didn't like running, it didn't sit well with her, but the idea of slaughtering people for no reason was even more abhorrent, so running it was, the whip sitting oddly in her fist, feeling conspicuous as it's one weapon she has no idea how to use. It seems simple enough in theory, but she doesn't want to flick her wrist wrong at the crucial moment, and end up decapitated if the axe-thrower pursued her away from the Cornucopia. If nothing else, she's sure she could get behind someone and strangle them with it.

She decides to get the lay of the land, and begins to climb up the decaying hulk of the Ferris wheel to get the view from the top. It's slow work, the structure creaking and shuddering around her as though it's going to collapse at any moment, the sharp edges of the iron frame cutting into her hands. The whip's useful to help hoist herself up, at least. About a third of the way up, though, the shaking and groaning the wheel's making becomes too much for her to risk going any further up, and so she settles into the frame, gazing around the landscape and watching for if anyone comes too close.