Amanita’s horn sparked; something tangled around Bitterroot’s hooves and she tripped. A broad, flat shield pinned her down as Amanita got all horn-in-facey. Bitterroot gave up trying to escape and let it happen. A tingle ran up her nose, down her nostrils, down her throat, up to the ends of her hairs. Something clotted in her windpipe, but her lack of reflexes meant she didn’t start coughing. When she finally managed to force herself to cough and get it out, she hacked up small chunks of blackened meat.