Creeping, green fingers of earth, soil mixed in with the sediment, and broken stone from beneath the flagstone that covered the ground reached up, displacing the stonework and reaching towards his prone body. The tendrils wrapped around his limbs, fusing with his fur as green magic flashed up and down the lengths of soils coiling across his form, fitting to his pelt in obscure and arcane patterns that shifted and flowed. His mouth opened reflexively, and the light of the world around him seemed to dim. Had he been able to control his breath, it would have been stolen away by the sights he could see. The half-light was no such thing; it was dimming because his sight was taken from him to look into the veil and its roiling darkness of flitting forms and endless shifting greyness.