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Morden caught her drift without further instruction, and Silje watched in giddy awe as the behemoth of a WARDEN spun around with the bot. It reminded her of a dance, a violent, turbulent tango. Silje made a mental note to ask him for lessons sometime. She'd always been told she had two left feet, but with speed like that, you didn't need feet at all.

Her companion let go of their target, and Silje refocused. The robot skid, unable to stop itself, and the battlemage watched its form get splattered with colour as it crossed into the pocket. It was like watching the birth of a painting from a master's brush, but a million times as fast. Everything happened in seconds.

Right. A painting. With frames. The instant that thought popped in her head, lines of mist gathered around the pocket as if framing it, trapping in both the robot and the explosion. Hopefully — no, [i]for sure[/i] — it would hold. She didn't know much about a lot of things, but she knew mist, knew how to mold it, and she was nothing if not determined to preserve her little artwork for the brief moment the explosion lasted.

[i]Burny McBurnyface,[/i] she would call it.[/color]