The group was composed of strange people, though Misha could only tell such from the reactions of others more than anything. Despite the odd collection, she could already feel the labels growing between them, and no doubt ones such as 'pitiful' or 'weak' were arising for herself. The last thing she needed was to look for someone else's hands for help, especially when she couldn't see what would be taken in return. Food and shelter were provided here, but commands were given in response. It was a fair deal, thus far, and one she could accept with relative ease. People that saw her spoke to her, and interacted with her personally, with their own particular wants and needs were quite different than a large group that offered and took in large quantities.
Zoya was unexplainable, and any words of her that came from others were lost on Misha. It was an introduction and flat instruction of acceptance that spoke blatantly of the fact that something was not presented. While Misha would think nothing of it if she were introduced in any other way, as the rest of them had, it was the same suspicion that came when someone gave you food and claimed, unprovoked, that it was absolutely safe to eat. Zoya was an unknown variable, but for different reasons than the others, as something about her clearly stood so far from the median that Misha immediately refused to try and guess why.
Then she saw the obstacle course.
She honestly didn't know what she expected, cautious eyes running invisibly through it as if pacing a ghost, and any worries about whether or not she could pass it vanished. A challenge? In the same conceptual way that a puzzle was, yes, but by explicit, obvious design, it was a puzzle meant to be completed. You did not make a maze without an exit, and you didn't create an obstacle course designed to fail. Unconsciously, she slipped her bag onto her back, where it sat snugly.
Dimly blunt eyes stared back at the stuttering Francis before she began to quietly move passed him. She didn't have time to dissect his words or their real meaning, she had something to prove that was quite contrary to his suggestion. Recovering? She'd felt worse and still done more. "No." She said quite bluntly as her face felt coldly taut. "I'm quite fine." It was fairly true, after all, the only part that caused her worry was the bow and arrow. Had she even seen one being used outside of cartoons from years ago? No, she didn't believe she had.
She quickly shuffled into line with the others, until she was given the clear to begin. Running was difficult, but it was also something she was used to well enough to do it in quick, brutal sprints. While this wasn't a sprint, she also wasn't entirely sure at what kind of pace she was supposed to be holding. The first wall, of which she chose the shorter, loomed as she ran towards it, but its design to be completed, paired with memories of similar climbs, flared in her mind as she bound from the start of the wall upward, hands clapping against the top, imaginary reflections of similar situations baying distantly as she suddenly swung her body horizontally, quickly, and effectively, flinging her legs up as her arms bent upward, catching herself with her left foot, using the sudden leverage to haul and roll herself over. It was not pleasant and was about as brute-forceful as she could manage, but little else could be done.
The tires, as they came up, seemed like one of the lesser problems at first, but as she slowly hopped through them it became apparent that the problem came from the height she had to raise her legs to properly avoid getting caught on the inner rim. Her pace came to a crawl, and her legs burned harshly in response as she forced her way through once more, though she did almost fall from a trip near the end as her legs stopped raising as high.
The rope swing came next, and she barreled towards it with intent to get over it as quickly and easily as possible, even the potential drop did little to discourage her. After all, it was designed to be complete. Her rough hands grabbed the rope as she leaped, and though she stumbled the landing pretty badly, it was obvious that she rammed the obstacle as headstrong as she could. The forceful, brutish way she approached each obstacle seemed almost reckless, as she moved towards the bow and arrow, but as she cautiously put the bracer on, and hefted the bow and arrow with plenty of obvious confusion, it was clear why she acted in such a manner.
When there was a puzzle, it was clear that there was a solution. Why would everyone be given a puzzle that none could solve? She could brute force it with reckless abandon, the only thing that could potentially stop her was the anxiety of doubt and self-delusional belief that it couldn't be done.
Until, of course, the archery, the one aspect that required skill and experience, of which she had neither. She, after a prolonged period of preparation, aimed the arrow forward, pulled back the string, of which she struggled and once more forced with frustration, having to try a third time before it came back a suitable amount, and let the arrow loose. The effect was notable for two reasons, the first being the wild inaccuracy of the shot as it hit the dirt, short and to the right of the target, and the second the sharp sound of the string scraping down the bracer, which she stared at in confusion as if she hadn't even considered the possibility or the purpose of it before she put them both down and moved onward.
She took the momentary solace in solitude to breath as she slowly walked back to the others.