“Fuck you, fuck this forest, and you can take your shit and shove it back up your own arse where it belongs you pretentious, ethereal, elven WHORE!” Handy snapped. The spirit turned to him silently. Whirlwind’s head snapped up and his face blanched. Even the magic which was transforming him paused where it held about his waist. Everything was very, very, very still, with only the rustling of the willow leaves daring to break the deathly silence. Handy took the opportunity to throw off his helmet in order to look upon the Lady of the Lake in disclosed contempt.