What? I think.

“You gotta ask for permission,” I protest to Willow, eyeing the gore spilling out of the two pairs of hands amidst the sounds of yelping. The pain is not of bloodspill, but of the loss of the tool of their everyday life. 

“Off to Pierre’s house, we go,” Willow's mountain climbing shoes step into the portal with a flash of white light from the portal with her voice trailing off. 

A tap on my shoulder from behind and I ...