Blocks molten glass

The glow was visible through the glare, almost mistakable for a phantom image from looking at other lights. It hit the road, streaking across it before going from red hot to a red-black, then black.


Glass.


"Etna," I said. I took to the air. "Bluestocking's group, she's-"


The molten glass globs sailed our way, and this time there was no mistaking the volley for a trick of the eyes. I flew forward to intercept, but they were spread out enough I could only block one.


*****


My first mind was to playing defense. Etna was hurling globs, and her intent clearly wasn't to hit our group. She wanted to herd, to take the group that was struggling and force them into continual retreat, deeper into the patch of traps.


But her aim wasn't perfect. One splash landed close, and it splashed, gobbets flying toward the group. One hit Byron's armor, only missing his eye because he ducked his head at the last second. Another hit my mother, a quarter-sized lump.


I caught and blocked the next. I could see her floating above the field, a heat shimmer surrounding her, the air steaming.

- Heavens 12.2