Along comes the muse and produces out her sleeve a nasty little goblin who will be delighted to show her the scene where the hero asks leave to follow her in hopes of a rescue. And is reminded that he must not if they do not give leave -- he's already gone farther than he should have, by their rule.
So I scribble, scribble, scribble and go onto the next scene. Which the muse produces out of her other sleeve: the hero telling his young children that he's going, and the older one taking it solemnly and the younger one taking it merrily -- he's going to retrieve Mama and it will take a while so they will stay with this other woman for a while. Which the goblin will not show her as it's true but doesn't hurt.
And producing more and more and more scenes about him. . . .
Not that she's willing to give up the original goblin, mind you. She thinks the dramatic irony of giving her reason to believe that he won't come after her is worth it. Or perhaps she just likes the goblin with its feathers. . . .
For an imaginary person, she can be quite a headache.