Handy pulled himself up from the ground. The pony was in front of him, his cloak whipping furiously in the ethereal winds his distinctive hat had since been blown away. Jacques was struggling, his face a mask of fear and desperation as his horn was practically exploding with magical force. His sword held before him sparked furiously, and Handy could not see past the bright wall of light he was trying to defend them both against. The world around them was dull and darkened, and he tried to speak but couldn’t hear his own words.