One of the youths comes up to Eliana, reaching toward her hair. The she makes 
a sound like a grunt, then flings her hand out from under her cloak like a cat, 
slashing at the youth’s face. The youth flips back off his feet as if struck by
the hand of a giant, crashes over a metal drum, then lays still. Blood pours 
from the smashed wreckage of his face and throat. The other youths hesitate. 
Eliana thrusts one arm toward the darkness of the sky, her fingers curled like claws. The air in the back alley suddenly begins to swirl. A 
cyclone arises. The youths gape, then turn and run, pelted from behind by every 
form of garbage.