As LoA has pointed out in the past, if a dog did this in a fantasy story, particularly such a poetic and elfish-looking dog, then ignoring her reservations would be a foolish thing to do, and would be certan to result in wandering into a parallel universe or being eaten by a dragon. Perhaps both.
I ignored her anyway, and went to look for bluebells. The wild ones are just starting to come into bloom, although their fat waxy Spanish cousins in the gardens have been flowering for weeks.
Plenty of celandines in flower, although the light was not right for catching celandines at their golden best, so this photo also has a dog in it.
The escaped daffodils in the woods, left behind by abandoned flower-farms, are still flowering their yellow hearts out, although some of them are starting to look a tiny bit ragged.
I photographed this because I thought it might be a Random Mine, but the Heritage Gateway says not. It is just an old Nissen Hut (from the first or second World War, I am not sure which, is there a way to date Nissen Huts?) and an almost equally elderly tractor. There is a Random Mine somewhere behind it, but not in view.
More escaped daffodils, this time trying to mingle inconspicuously with the wood anemones.
And here is a photo of Brythen Being Good. It is not a photo of Rosie.
This is because Rosie was down by the river, where she had found a very dead sheep that had been washed onto the bank. It was, apparently, the BEST THING EVER. This just goes to show that her initial reservations about the walk were based on her wild imaginings about things that might go wrong, rather than any genuine prescience about the Awesome that was awaiting her.