Warm Night glanced over at the lever. It was a good distance away over empty space. Warm was exhausted and strained. His body was aching from the fight and the flight from the collapse, he had a throbbing headache, and carrying that torch earlier proved to have been challenging in spite of the comparative ease such magic would naturally be to a unicorn. He focused on the handle, and a blue glow enveloped the handle. It refused to budge. His vision doubling under the strain, it turned out that one kick to the head he had gotten in the riot knocked more out of him than he thought.