The tangle of thorns trembled, fighting against the spell before settling again, the branches winding tighter defensively. The mass was large enough to be a small shack and if Rhys looked down he'd see that the purple liquid of the pond was actually trickling out from under the sharp thorns. The quiet thrum of laughter from earlier would start up randomly only to be abruptly silenced, the indigo liquid pouring out thicker and faster before dying down again.