Wings swished through the air while armoured hooves stomped the ground, Handy was running out of time. The tingling finally stopped, whatever it was. He dropped the pony on the ground, picked up his sack of gatherings, and looked back over the small cellar once more. The pages of old magic scrawls remained, but the sheets were blank where they ought to have words. Strange – he could have sworn they were full of written notes just... It would have to do. Had he been braver, he'd make the effort to burn it all.