#ohhhhh...

Erika and KC exchanged a look. 

“Vengeance is a cycle that will continue ad infinitum if we let it,” said Orion solemnly. “That’s why one must be the better man and decide to not take their own pain out on others.”

Skye and McNully both nodded. Carewyn looked at Orion, her blue eyes flooding with admiration. When he looked at her in return, however, she couldn’t hold his gaze, so she turned away again. 

Bill glanced from Talbott to Orion. “...I have to ask, though...why didn’t you move to Florence, if it’s so much better for magicians there?”

Talbott shrugged. “This is my home. Florence never was. And once the Baroness found me and offered to take me in and train me...well, it made it so I didn’t have to abandon who I was, just to learn how to control my magic.”

Carewyn’s eyes welled up with sympathy. “I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like, having that kind of power and no one to help you control it. It must have been really lonely, and scary.”

Her eyes softened. “...It’s a really good thing you found the Baroness.”

Talbott glanced at Carewyn out the side of his eye. It was the first time he’d looked up. 

“...Yes,” he said softly. “It is.”

The magician’s apprentice then turned back to his work, scribbling a few more details. 

Andre glanced warily at Carewyn, and then at Orion, who gave him a very small reassuring smile. The Prince of Royaume then slowly approached Talbott, coming to stand between Charlie and Carewyn to look over the apprentice’s shoulder at the ten crossed-out diagrams. 

“I must confess, I...don’t know much about magicians at all,” Andre said, sounding rather embarrassed. “Are all of you born that way? Practicing magic?”

“Yes and no,” said Talbott. 

He crossed out the diagram in front of him, turning the parchment over so that he could draw another on the back. 

“Magic is split up into two categories: spells and potions,” he explained. “People can be born with a certain talent for one or the other, but it’s just like any other kind of talent -- if you don’t use it, you lose it. I daresay half the reason Florence has more magicians than Royaume does is because such talents are nurtured, rather than buried. The other reason, of course, being that magicians actively moved there, so that they could find people who could help them control and master their power.”

“So I guess your specialty was spells,” surmised KC. 

Talbott nodded. 

“Transfiguration, specifically,” he said, his lips curled up in a smirk. “When I was little, I used to transfigure my least favorite foods into sweets.”

Carewyn had to suppress a giggle behind her hand. “Your parents must not have been very happy about that.”

Talbott shot another quick glance at her, his smirk broadening to show teeth. “Hey, I tried to offer to do the same trick for them, and they said no.”

Carewyn giggled harder, and Talbott returned to his work, that broader smirk still adorning his features. 

“I think I’m just about ready,” he said with a flourish of his quill. “I just need to finish writing out these runes around the edges, and I should be able to create a shield strong enough to protect everyone who touches me.”

“I’ll go get the horses ready, then,” said Bill.

“I’ll help,” said Carewyn quickly. “My horse is easily spooked -- I’d better handle him myself.”

As the two gingers left, Charlie looked at Talbott with a frown. 

“Can we all really keep touching you the whole way to the battlefield, though? I mean, we do kind of have to have our hands on the reins.”

“And I still need to ride in the coach,” said McNully, his hand resting on his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t see a scenario where I could keep a hand on you without making it so that no one else can touch you...unless we all try to pile back into the coach again, but it won’t hold all of us. I hesitate to use this level of certainty, but I’d say there’s a 0% chance that a spell like that could protect all of us.”

“I know,” said Talbott grimly. “But a spell’s more effective with specific restrictions -- if I broadened the terms, the shield won’t be as strong. I’d say under the circumstances, I should only take the Princes. They’ll be the ones who can stop the fighting. Once the fighting’s stopped, it’ll be safer for the rest of you to get closer. Anything I cast won’t last long anyway.” 

“Because you’re still in training?” Skye asked. 

Talbott nodded. “My magic isn’t strong enough yet for any spell I cast to last longer than an hour or so. The Baroness can make spells last for their calculated duration -- but I can’t cast illusions like she can.”

“Illusions like the one hiding her manor?” guessed Charlie. 

“Exactly.”

KC frowned. “What do you mean by ‘calculated duration?’”

Talbott scratched out some complex-looking runes around the edges of the diagram he was working on. 

“There are Four Chief Principles of Magic.

“The first is that the more specific a spell or potion’s terms are, the more likely it’ll work. You generally need three terms in mind while casting any kind of spell: person, place, and day. In a potion’s case, it’s usually more about using just the right ingredients for just the right person and problem. 

“The second is that all of the magical terms applied must be valid in order for the spell or potion to work. If you create a spell meant for one person, in a certain place, on a certain day, it can’t then be shifted over to another -- you’ll have to start all over again and craft a new spell from scratch. Same thing applies if you remove a spell and then want to recast it. For potions, it’s a little less risky, but potions are still best when brewed fresh and for a specific person and problem. 

“The third is that a magician must have singular focus on the magic they’re casting in order for it to be effective. You can’t cast more than one spell or brew more than one potion properly at the same time. Most magicians need to put their attention solely on maintaining a spell or brewing a potion and shut out everything else -- anyone who can do it for a length of time without giving themselves a migraine, like the Baroness, are both incredibly powerful and incredibly well-trained.

“And finally the fourth was already cited by your friend, Prince Cosimo -- the longer something takes to cast or brew, the more lasting its effects are. This is why most Healers tend to prefer potions to spells -- no matter how powerful a spell or its caster is, everything will immediately go back to the way it was before once a day has ended.”

“Because the terms of the spell -- in this case, the day it was meant for -- would no longer be true,” said Orion. 

Talbott nodded. “Obviously in the cases where a spell or potion’s effects kills somebody, that’s not undone...but that’s because death is something nothing can undo, not even magic. The most it can do is delay it a little while.”

Bill and Carewyn appeared in the open doorframe again at that moment. 

“We’re ready to go,” said Bill.

“Good,” said Talbott.

He got to his feet. Slowly raising his hand, the apprentice started to trail a finger through the air in front of him, as if drawing something. As he did so, his hands began to glow with bluish-white light, leaving streaking lines behind in a complex-looking wheel in mid-air not unlike the one he’d plotted out on the discarded parchment. Once all of the details were in, Talbott then held out his hand and touched the complex magical circle. In an instant, the light seemed to fade away into his hand, rippling through his skin and making his veins flicker with tiny sparkles. When the light had faded, the circle remained on the palm of Talbott’s hand, still glowing faintly. 

Talbott’s eyebrows were knit very tightly together as his eyes flickered over to Andre and Orion. 

“Come on,” he said very lowly -- it was clear that he was trying hard to stay focused on the spell, since he didn’t look at them straight-on. “Let’s go.”

Orion and Andre each climbed onto their horses, with Talbott climbing up behind Andre so that he could focus on the spell instead of riding a horse of his own. Andre kept a hand on Talbott’s arm, and the contact made him glow ever-so-slightly with blueish-white light himself. 

Orion looked incredibly pale as he climbed onto his black mare. His eyes kept migrating over to Carewyn, longing for her to look at him. It was only once Carewyn had properly “mothered” Andre by reminding him and Talbott to be careful that she met Orion’s eyes. When she did, she was startled by their intensity...as well as by the flicker of something oddly insecure as he slowly rode over to her on his horse. His hands on the reins were trembling. 

Carewyn’s eyes filled with concern. As Orion approached her, she extended a hand and gently rested it on top of his hand. The gesture made Orion stiffen ever-so-slightly, but he didn’t make any move to pull away. 

“Will you be all right?” Carewyn asked him, very softly. 

Orion’s midnight-black eyes grew a little smaller upon her face. “...I don’t have any choice but to be.”

He hesitated -- it was like he wanted to say something, but had decided against it. In the end, he slowly broke his hand out of the vice grip he’d had on the reins. Carewyn released his hand so as not to impede him, but before she could move her hand too far, Orion seized it, holding it tightly. 

“Once the fighting’s stopped,” he said softly, “may I meet him? Your brother.”

Carewyn gave a start. 

“It wouldn’t be safe for me to enter the Royaumanian camp myself, but I can wait outside of its gates for you, once I’ve stopped my father’s army,” Orion said very quickly. “I’d...like to see that you and your brother are together again. That...you’re happy again.”

There was something unspoken that passed between them in that moment, when their eyes met. It was the first time they’d really spoken to each other since Orion’s true ancestry was revealed, and it was clear to both of them, when they looked into each other’s eyes, how much it changed everything. It had been easy to play pretend, before...but now that Orion’s true identity had been revealed and would soon become common knowledge, he wouldn’t be able to return to Royaume dressed as a peasant and expect to not get attention. And even if the War ended this very day...it would still probably not be safe for him to return, for a long while. And Carewyn...Carewyn wouldn’t be able to visit Orion in Florence. Charles would never let her go. 

Carewyn broke eye contact with Orion at last, her gaze falling down to their linked hands as she tried to smile. 

“...Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I want you and Jacob to meet.”

Jacob might be a bit protective, but...I want him to know you. I want him to know how good of a man you are.

Forcing back her tears, she forced herself to look back up at Orion, her blue eyes blazing. 

“I can’t be out there with you when you confront your army,” Carewyn said in a very low, but fierce voice, “so take my strength. My spirit, my courage. All of it.”

She squeezed his hand. Orion mirrored her, squeezing her hand just as tightly in return -- then, impulsively, he brought it up to his face, brushing the back of it lightly with his lips. 

“Carewyn...” he whispered her name against her skin as he closed his eyes.

Andre and the others looked very reluctant to separate them. Talbott, however, pressed the issue. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said in a voice that was much blunter than he meant, his eyebrows knit tightly over his closed eyes, “but the longer I try to maintain this spell, the more I want to take my own head off just to stop the migraine behind my eyes. We need to go.” 

Carewyn nodded. “...Yes.”

She gave Orion’s hand another squeeze before sliding out of his grip. Orion, already missing the contact, nonetheless took hold of his horse’s reins again, shifting his horse over enough so that he could press his foot up against Talbott’s leg. The contact made the blueish-white light of Talbott’s spell trail over Orion’s shoulders as well. 

“Together?” Orion said to Andre. 

Andre nodded firmly. “Together.”

And in unison, the two Princes flicked their reins, and their horses charged out over the hill, into the growing blackness of night, straight onto the raging battlefield. 

The accounts from that day were highly romanticized after the fact. Some soldiers claimed that a bright light, like a massive star, descended from the night sky and landed right in the heart of the battlefield. Others claimed that there was a great, silent explosion of light that made everything and everyone freeze where they stood. 

One thing is for certain, though -- when Andre and Orion charged out onto the field, ordering their soldiers to cease fire, the effect was immediate. And when they broke away from Talbott and his fracturing shield to reach their army’s respective generals, Alastor Moody and Ethan Parkin, and order them to stand down and organize a retreat back to camp, everyone within ten miles of the two war camps were stunned by how instantaneously the sounds of battle had stopped. 

General Parkin, for his part, responded to Orion’s arrival with overwhelming relief. 

"When the King received your letter, saying you were going to the Royaumanian palace, he feared the worst! We thought for sure you’d have been captured...”

Orion could feel his clasped hands sweating, but he maintained the calmest face possible. “Well, clearly I was not.”

General Parkin babbled on a bit more after that, but Orion found it difficult to pay attention, with the smell of death making screams from the past echo in his ears. He closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth to try to calm his heartrate. A murky memory of sitting in the grass with Carewyn rippled over his mind. 

“Greensleeves was all my joy...Greensleeves was my delight...”

“...touch reckless, you know,” said Parkin dismissively. “But never mind, never mind, we must return to camp at once -- his Majesty -- ”

“General, please see to the retreat and do not interact with the enemy again until I send word,” Orion said very calmly, to cut him off. “I will return to the capitol shortly.”

Parkin did a double-take as Orion returned to his horse. 

“What?” he said, suddenly looking more urgent. “But your Highness -- his Majesty -- !”

“Can meet me in the capitol, if he wishes,” Orion said in a very level, but firm voice. “It has an aura much better suited to discussing diplomacy.”

And ignoring General Parkin’s cries after him, the Prince led his horse into a fast gallop back across the Royaumanian border. 

Carewyn had barely waited for the fighting to stop to head straight for the Royaumanian camp. Bill and Charlie caught up with her not long after on their own horses, and Erika and KC caught up with them in the camp itself. Carewyn then immediately set off around the camp, seeking out Jacob. 

The camp truly was a dark, filthy, hopeless, miserable place. It was comprised of many, many tiny tents over worn beds made of hay and old sheets, though there were several pots cooking some sort of unpleasant-looking soup and lines of dried meats made of what looked like squirrels and rats. A sickening sour smell stained the air, likely evident both of rotted food and of rotted flesh. There was no soldier without some sort of permanent injury, whether a missing limb or eye or a deep scar across the face from a bayonet -- and almost none of them had a complete uniform. Many of them had even had to bundle their feet in bandages since they had no shoes. 

Because of the lavish lifestyle the King and Queen had indulged in and given their son so as to stay sheltered from the hardships of War, the soldiers of the Royaumanian camp were just as starved for rations and supplies as their Florentine counterparts. Even KC -- who had mapped out plenty of war strategies for the army -- had only ever seen the War through the lens of charts and maps, and so had no concept of just how bad conditions were until she walked into the camp herself. 

When KC, Erika, and the Weasleys collided with Andre and Talbott at the camp, the Prince of Royaume looked very shaken. 

“I...I had no concept it was like this...”

Andre looked out at the lines of pale, starving men marching out of the darkness and back into camp, taking each soldier in one by one. 

“To think,” he whispered, “all this time I’ve been making elaborate suits and gowns for balls, just to entertain myself...while my men starved.”

His eyes narrowed as they flooded with tears. Bill moved to the Crown Prince’s side and took hold of his shoulder. 

“You didn’t know,” he said gently. 

Andre closed his eyes, his eyebrows knitting tightly together as the tears streaked down his face.

“That’s no excuse,” he said bitterly. 

“The King and Queen have always shielded you from the War, Henri,” Erika said solemnly. “This is part of it.”

“Yes, but I didn’t question it. I didn’t even think to.”

Andre opened his eyes, and they were blazing around his tears. 

“Orion was right,” he said lowly. “This isn’t a place anyone should like to visit. It’s not a place any of these men should have to stay in.”

With a heavy breath, Talbott climbed off Andre’s horse, massaging his temple with one hand. His eagle-like eyes swept over the others.

“...Where’s Carewyn?” he asked.

“She went ahead, to look for Jacob,” said Bill. “Come on...let’s go catch up.”

Carewyn searched the face of every soldier she saw. She combed every military line and peeked into every tent. And yet, as she searched, there were no familiar faces. There was no Jacob. 

Undeterred, Carewyn tried a different tack. Jacob had been at War so long that it would be unsurprising if he were unrecognizable. He might not even recognize her, after so long -- she had only been about Ginny’s age when they were separated...

And so she cupped a hand around her mouth and started to sing as loudly as she could as she walked through the camp. 

“Climbing rose on the wall --

Pluck it now before the petals fall.

Apple, ripe on the bough --

Take it, for the time to take is now.

Happy day, sun or rain --

Live it, for it never comes again.

Lads have died, young and gay --

Pretty maids can fade away...

Nothing is forever; always is a lie...

I can only love you till the day I die.”

It was a song Carewyn hadn’t sung once in all her time at the palace and hadn’t sung at the Cromwell estate in years. Lane had had an old music box that had played it as a child, and she in turn used to sing it to Carewyn as a child to help her sleep. Later on both Jacob and Carewyn took to singing it too, Jacob whenever Carewyn woke up from a nightmare and Carewyn whenever she caught Jacob falling asleep at his desk rather than his bed and had to put a blanket around his shoulders and a pillow under his head. The song always brought back too many painful memories for Carewyn to like singing it for anyone -- but in that moment, she decided she had to. 

It was Carewyn’s singing that helped the others catch up with her. It was not long after that that a male voice in the distance echoed Carewyn’s voice.

“So my love...oh, my love...

Dream no more, my love: awake, my love...

Oh, my love...wake, my love...

Turn to me and take my love.”

Carewyn felt her heart race as she pursued the voice, pushing her way around lines of soldiers until she reached the medical tent. Just outside of it, she caught sight of a tall man with a mane of dark hair.

But when she got closer and the man’s face was revealed by the yellowish lantern light coming from the medical tent, no almond-shaped blue eyes met hers. Instead the eyes were a very dark, flat brown. And there were no curls in his hair -- instead it was almost absurdly sleek. 

The soldier in question looked Carewyn over as she approached him. 

“Was that you singing?” he asked.

Carewyn had to recover herself. The relief and joy on her face had flickered and died. 

“...Yes,” she said at last. 

The lantern light dipped into the contours of the man’s face as he smiled. “Your voice is lovely. I haven’t heard that song in a very long time.”

“Thank you,” Carewyn said reluctantly. 

“The name’s Chester Davies,” the soldier introduced himself, with a small bow. “My family owns a music box shop, in the capital.”

So that’s how he knew the song, thought Carewyn, her heart becoming a little heavier in his chest. His family probably made Mum’s old music box.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she murmured. 

Her eyes drifted away, over his head. She was thoroughly prepared to walk away when Chester spoke again.

“Is something the matter?”

Carewyn shook her head without looking at him. 

“Forgive me,” she said as politely as she could. “I...merely thought you were somebody else. Please excuse me...”

“Wait.”

Carewyn looked up, startled. Chester adjusted the crutch under his arm and inched himself off of the barrel he’d been leaning up against on his bandaged leg. He considered her face very carefully, as if struggling to remember something.

“I know your eyes,” he murmured. 

After a moment, Chester’s brown eyes grew very wide. 

“...Wyn?” he whispered, amazed. “Is your name Wyn?”

Carewyn gave a violent start. 

“Yes!” she said, her voice strained with emotion. “Carewyn -- my name is Carewyn. My brother calls me Wyn.”

Chester’s face flooded with awe and sadness. 

“I can’t believe it,” he said, his lips curled up in a small smile. “After all these years...I’m so glad to see you’re well.”

Bill had appeared on Carewyn’s other side, squeezing her shoulders supportively from behind as he faced Chester. “So you know Carey’s brother.”

“Please,” said Carewyn urgently, “please, where is he?”

Chester looked taken aback. Then his face flooded with dismay. 

“...You...you don’t know?” he murmured. “I...I thought after nine years, you would’ve...”

Carewyn’s heart clenched. “Don’t know what? What’s wrong? Where’s Jacob -- is he hurt?”

Chester swallowed. It looked very painful to do.

“I’m sorry, Carewyn...but your brother, he...he passed away.”

Bill stiffened, his hands clenching over Carewyn’s shoulders. Charlie, Andre, and KC’s faces all flooded with disappointment and sadness. Talbott bowed his head. Even Erika closed her eyes grimly. 

Carewyn, however, reacted with instant, fervent denial. She pulled out of Bill’s grip and strode right past Chester, heading for the medical tent. 

“Forgive me,” she said very lowly. “But you’re mistaken.”

“I wish I was,” said Chester. His expression appeared very pained. 

“Then take comfort knowing you are!” Carewyn shot back, her voice unusually sharp, like a slap.

“Cromwell...” Erika muttered, and her hard voice actually betrayed some pity. 

“No,” Carewyn cut her off. 

She slapped the flap of the medical tent and headed inside. 

It was only when she emerged twenty minutes later, prepared to immediately search the rest of the camp, that Andre stopped her by taking hold of both of her shoulders.

“Carewyn,” said the Prince of Royaume, his voice full of sorrow, “he’s not here.”

"Then he’s at another camp,” said Carewyn fiercely. She tried to break out of Andre’s grip, but he held fast to her shoulders.

“KC says there is no other camp!” he said, and his voice cracked with the effort of him trying to hold in his emotion. 

“Then he deserted!” Carewyn shot back. “Jacob is alive!”

“He did desert.”

Carewyn whirled on Chester, her blue eyes wide and oddly hostile, like a dog reacting aggressively to a stranger. The soldier was holding his injured leg as he leaned against the barrel beside the medical tent again.

“I arrived in camp about a week before your brother did, nine years ago,” Chester said quietly. “I remember because he was raging like a mad man, when the wagon transporting him first pulled in. Everyone had thought he was some sort of criminal, since he’d had to be chained inside the wagon. When they set him loose and set about trying to force him to join the ranks, he somehow threw off both of the men holding his arms, punched both of them in the face, and immediately stole General Moody’s horse and rode it out of camp. It took about ten men to capture him, and Moody ordered that your brother be locked up in solitary for a few days, in the hopes it might help him cool off. 

“All the other soldiers kept at a distance, as your brother seemed unstable...but I’d been assigned by General Moody to bring him his daily rations, so I didn’t have much choice. By the time I approached him that night, though, he’d stopped lashing out. Instead he’d gone very quiet and still. I reckon he’d finally accepted that the chains he was locked in were too strong for him to break. When I brought him his food, he thanked me, and introduced himself as Jacob Cromwell. ‘Don’t judge me by that surname, though,’ he’d said. ‘I’m nothing like that bastard Charles.’ Jacob’s wrists under the manacles were very badly bruised, so I asked if he needed medical attention. Even if they couldn’t take the chains off, they might at least have some cold compresses that might help. But Jacob said no. Said there was no point. ‘I’m nearly out of time anyway,’ he’d said. I didn’t know what he was talking about, but his voice...”

A shadow fell over Chester’s eyes. 

“...It sounded...so empty. So defeated. So full of despair...like a man awaiting the gallows. Then he just...crumpled in on himself, sobbing. ‘Wyn. I’ve failed you, Wyn.’”

Bill’s fists clenched so tight at his sides that they went stark white. Carewyn’s eyes were locked on the ground -- she couldn’t show her face to her friends, hearing this. 

“I asked him who Wyn was, and he said she was his sister. ‘My sweet, brave little sister,’ he’d said.” Chester’s expression softened slightly. “It seems Jacob was right about that. You were brave, to have come here...”

“‘Is,’” Carewyn corrected fiercely. “He is right. Not ‘was.’”

Chester shook his head sadly. 

“I wanted to sit with him until he stopped crying, but I was set to start a scouting mission on the enemy lines just after midnight, so I couldn’t stay. After I returned to camp the next morning...I learned the news.”

Carewyn’s face had lost all of its color.

“Stop,” she whispered.

Chester looked upon her, his face very firm despite the pain in his expression, and he pressed on anyway. 

“I found the entire camp in disarray. Everyone was packing up and preparing to abandon the site, and clothes and personal items were being thrown up onto a bonfire. It soon turned out that someone had arrived in camp carrying the Plague, and that everyone in the prison had been exposed...meaning those people had to be put down and their belongings burned, so as to try to prevent it from spreading further.”

“Stop,” Carewyn repeated. 

Chester’s eyes rippled with grief and empathy. 

“I’m sorry, Carewyn,” he said as gently as he could. “There was nothing you could’ve done -- nothing any of us could’ve done. But your brother loved you so much: I could tell he did. I have a younger brother too, but I never once thought of trying to run away from the War, just to get back to him...”

“Stop it!” 

Carewyn had to restrain herself from shoving the soldier off his feet. Her entire frame was shaking, whether with rage or pain, no one knew. 

“Jacob is alive!” she said, her voice so strained it almost sounded hysterical. “Whatever injury or illness or whatever else he’s gone through, he’s alive! He’s under a spell! His life is bound to my grandfather -- as long as Grandfather wills it, Jacob won’t die!”

The others excluding Bill all looked stricken. 

“Charles Cromwell used...?” started KC.

But Talbott looked the tensest of all. He seized Carewyn’s shoulders and steered her around to look at him, his expression grimmer than anyone had yet seen it.

“Carewyn,” he said very lowly, “the longest a spell can last is one day.”

Carewyn stared at him, her face disbelieving. 

“It’s the second Chief Principle of Magic,” he said. “‘All of the magical terms applied must be valid in order for the spell or potion to work.’ You need to have a person, place, and day in mind to activate a spell. When a day ends, those terms are no longer met -- and so at the stroke of midnight, every spell breaks, regardless of when it was cast or how powerful the magician is...and everything goes back to the way it was before.”

Carewyn couldn’t speak. Her throat felt like it was being clenched in someone’s fist.

Talbott’s eyes welled up with empathy. “...I’m sorry.”

Carewyn tore out of Talbott’s grip, taking a shaky step back. 

“No,” she repeated, her voice a mere shadow of what it usually was. “No...no...”

The memory of Jacob’s relieved face as he ran to her back at the Cromwell estate melted away into that of Jacob’s sweating, shuddering frame as he fought through the Plague that had taken their mother. 

“Everything goes back to the way it was before...”

“...Someone had arrived in camp carrying the Plague...”

Bill’s eyes, wide with horror and grief, had welled up with tears. He tried to pull Carewyn into his arms and hold her, but Carewyn wrenched herself out of his reach and bolted.

“NO!”