If people really could blow steam out of their ears, Angela would have resembled a two-spouted kettle. Jorg struggles to stop laughing. His side his hurting, his eyes watering, and Snuffles' squeals echo in his ears. Jorg plants his feet and brings his glowing bo staff to a stop, his eyes on the spirigus. It paws at the ground, swinging its head back and forth. Jorg takes a deep steadying breath and waits. His father's words echo in his ears.

"Breathe. Feel the earth beneath your feet. Take charge of your body and picture yourself doing what needs to be done." Jorg imagines himself stepping forwards, the staff arching through the air over his head to land squarely between Snuffles' eyes. The spirigus bellows his challenge, the sound echoing through the trees.

And then, suddenly, inexplicably, Angela plants herself between Jorg and the pig. He stares at the back of her head, at the dark curls tumbling down her back. Does he picture himself pushing her out of the way with the staff or...?

POP!

At first he thinks she's vanished. The spirigus seems momentarily confused. Jorg's gaze drifts downwards to the floor and settles on the tiny kitten sitting amongst the leaf litter, its ears pinned back against its head. Jorg removes a hand from his staff and slams it over his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud. Brilliant.

...or possibly not.

Angela panics and darts back towards the burrow. The little blur of movement is enough to capture Snuffles' attention. It abandons Jorg, clutching at his sides, and tears after the kitten instead. Which were quicker? Scaredy cats or furious pigs? It was probably best not to find out.

"Oi!" Jorg bellows, leaping into the open patch of grass opposite the burrow, clapping his hands together. "Hey! Over here, fugly!" He bends down, picks up a rock and throws it at the Spirigus. It bounces off its back onto the floor beside it with a thud. The spirigus abandons its pursuit of Angela and wheels around, charging straight at Jorg.

Shit.

He realises his staff had vanished and waves his hand through the air to try and summon it again. It doesn't work. A small utility dagger appears in his hand, suited more to stabbing dinner than enemies. Jorg curses in Norse under his breath as the ground beneath him starts to shake. The stench of pig fills his nostrils. He flings himself out of the way, but he's not quite quick enough. Red hot pain shoots down his forearm as the pig's tusk meets flesh and rips open his skin. It forces a cry of pain from between his teeth and his instincts draw his injured arm up towards his chest. He cradles it defensively against his chest.

His conjured dagger vanishes. The Spirigus, sensing victory, advances. Jog pulls his real dagger from his belt with his good hand and scrambles backwards. He can see himself reflected back in the cold black of the monsters' eyes and lashes out.

"Enough!"

Rhaegar's voice echoes through the clearing. The spirigus stops abruptly, frozen in time as he comes storming out of the trees with a face like thunder. Jorg staggers to his feet, his head swimming. His shirt feels sticky. Looking down, he sees the dark red stain spreading across the fabric and with the observation comes the realisation. He couldn't feel his arm. Jorg glances up at his father, his heart pounding. Rhaegar frowns down at him.

"What the fuck, Jorg?"