One second to the next, it's hard to tell what happens. A sharp metallic crack, like windchimes hitting a stone floor. Then a white light, frigidly cold. A zing. A crash.

Lionel Qualls leaps out of the way as a missile of ice passes right through the spot he'd just been standing. It shatters against a shelf, knocking it over, causing more chaos.

"Weeds!" Pouch roars, wings unfurled and flapping fast. All of that good nature shed, replaced with icy fury that seems to radiate out into the air. It's an old and angry hurt that hangs on every surface, grief and unspeakable rage.