“Sins of the elders,” Blaze whispered, and the goat bleated in an echoing roar before taking off at a dead run for the opposite wall. Its feet carved divots out of the stone and left trails of smoke behind, but when it reached the wall, it wasn’t a wall any longer; it was a meadow. And at the edge of the meadow was a forest. And that forest was on fire. And in that inferno, Blaze knew the goat would be slaughtered.
When the voice spoke next, it came from above, angry and terrible: “REVIEW.”
Something banged in the tub and the whole thing shook. The marble tile around it began to crack and crumble, bits of it flying at Blaze. Blaze put himself between the shrapnel and the huddled man, and from behind them, in the direction Blaze could not see, a woman said, “Hello, Stea.”