However, her plan had been cut short, her happy rhyming cadence she had been half-humming, half-singing coming to a sudden stop when she noticed it. The air was cold, but it was a cold that could touch her. The wind had a bite, but it was a bite that could cut her. There was something here that was not some mean spiritling leaning too close against the veil, neither some sylph nor wisp or sprite of this world or another. This was nothing she could force into bondage, nor trick into servitude, nor parley for its service. No... this was something else entirely.