She keeps dragging her fingers through, but it is an ultimately fruitless venture. For every piece she gets back, another will spring free. It's embarrassing, honestly, to have it on her very own head, and yet, be unable to keep it together.

Enough that she looks purely grateful when she hears the word help. The miserable, hopeful little, "please," as she keeps her hands up at her head doing her best when the wind would like it another way entirely.