It starts raining again, and worse

Morgala awkwardly climbs up onto the carriage and sits down next to the Orc driver.

"My name's Thurkla," says the green woman.

"Morgala..." the elf timidly responds. "N-nice to meet yoOOOOOUUUUU!"

Before Morgala can finish her introduction, Thurkla has put the carriage back into motion once more.

"Eeeek! Oh... oh my!" Morgala sputters and spits as she clings to her seat for dear life. Her hands are so busy clinging to the seat that she doesn't think to hold onto her cloak. That proves disastrous for the old girl, as the wind almost immediate blows the garment off her shapely form, leaving her utterly exposed to the cruel (some would argue) elements.

M-my cloak!

Morgala wants to say something to the Orc driver, but she looks so big, and scary and intimidating, and frankly our elf can't work up the courage to do so. She opts to suffer in silence instead, something she is very experienced at.

Morgala hasn't ridden in a carriage since her wedding (and even then, it was inside it, not on top of it), and our delicate lady simply isn't prepared for such a bouncy ride. To make things worse, the weather decides to get nasty again, and soon the wind is picking up and the rain is falling once more.

A major bump in the road shakes our chubby elf to core, making her jiggle (quite enticingly mind you) in every direction, while the elements conspire against her modesty. The water plays havoc with her traveling clothes, making things that should remain hidden (at least according to Morgala's conservative sensibilities) quite visible to any on-looker, while the wind busies itself with the straps of her bonnet, quickly and deftly untying the offending garment before it whisks it off her head, never to been seen again.

"Oh! M-my bonnet! We have to stop and fetch it!" An increasing frazzled Morgala tells Thurkla, but the orc ignores her. She's hellbent on making up for lost time and arriving at their destination.

The wind picks up once more, blowing the elf's wet and now uncovered hair loose, freeing Morgala's lovely red locks from their fussy braid and letting them flow freely behind her.

"D-did you hear me?" Morgala shouts over the din of the carriage ride to Thurkla.

Another big bump in the road rocks the carriage, making the elf's bust jiggle. The **** from it pings off the top bottom of her cheap, shoddy blouse, exposing more of the middle-aged woman's creamy skin to the world.

"NO TIME!" Thurkla shouts back, she's not used to company up here, and her loud booming voice frightens poor Morgala into silence once more.

The rain gets worse as the wind picks up once more. Poor Morgala is now soaked to the bone and her clothes are scandalously close to transparent. Why, if anyone were to look at her, they could see what kind of under clothes she was wearing (a white camisole and pair of granny panties)!

To make matters even worse for the long-suffering servant, the wind has managed to pluck another button from her blouse, making her (somewhat limited, mind you) cleavage visible to the world.