There was the shaman, right in front of me. He'd moved forward since I'd last seen him, right up to the edge of his magical antiprojectile barrier. Bad move. A freak gust of wind had blown the smoke back toward him, engulfing him. In the instant before I plowed full-on into him, I saw his eyes—puffy, red, watering—bug wide open. He opened his mouth—maybe to cast a spell, maybe to yell "fuck," I'd never know.