He picked up another piece of treasure, this time a kind of bronze sceptre… or a mace, he realised, and weighed it in his claws. It would have to do. He carefully considered his trajectory and how far he could throw it, grateful for once for the lanky arms he now had thanks to his admittedly slow growth over the years. He considered the mirrors and how likely it was that Meranax would fall for a ploy as ancient as this one was.