WITH THE SPLITTING CRACK OF LIGHTNINGā š²ā comes a second judder of the house's frame, and felix struggles to get his feet under him as he begins to slideāāalong with everything else in the house not hammered downāāarms pinwheeling in the scramble for balance. for an instant, he meets the eyes of the witch he's hurtling toward, and it's impossible to describe the look in her eyes. . .
the sound of his name snaps him out of it, and his head whips toward the priest, clutching onto the ledge to keep him rooted. he throws an arm out without thinking, just managing to catch onto the end of the staff outstretched to him. the witch bellows again, this time wordlessly, a soundless howl of rage, as he tries to get his fingers more firmly around the stout oak, only to be distracted again by a sudden bang and an answering howl of wind buffetting into the hovel's interior, raking like hands at his clothing and hair. "damn it, what's going on?" and then: shrieking, rising above everything else somehow, turning his head around to an unbelievable sceneāāthe witch, flailing wildly, still trapped behind the enormous table, fallen dishware scattered at her feet, cloaked in a flurry of white originating from the birdāāthe chickenāāflying itself at her face making screeching and honking sounds that don't even sound like a chicken anymore.
they had to move ; they had to do something.
but the force of phenomena much larger than them make the decisions while they're tossed around powerlessly. everything goes skeletal white in another flash from outside ; felix manages to get his other hand on the end of the staffāāmilliseconds before another earth-shattering BOOM throws everything upside down. he feels himself falling, hitting somethingā (ā a wall, a shelf, the floorā ) ;ā all around him the hut's interior spins in dizzying colors ; a light fixture whirls past, jutting out sideways.
thenāāimpact, driving the air from his lungs, rattling up through his skull. pain radiates from his leg, but instinct refuses to let him lie there, pushing him to fight to crawl to his knees. his scabbard is empty at his waist, sword lost. wreckage and sheaves of wall and broken furniture surround him, and his palms touch something cold and wet. the ground. not the floor of the hut, but outside, grass and soil. the house collapsed?
"priest??" he calls out, staggering to his feet, wincing at a lance of pain, frantically searching what he can see in the pouring rain coming sideways in lashing sheets against a sky so dark it could be the middle of the night. where was the witch? the chicken? even if he ran to save his own skin, he wouldn't get far in this weather ; he steps over a shattered beam, shivering hard as the water quickly drenches through layers of clothing. "priest!"
