Frida, so distressed by Seneca's distress (if her cousin wasn't calm, there obviously was a good reason for herself not to be!) that a fit of shallow, quick breaths began. She felt around in her robe pocket, her heart almost beating from her chest when she didn't feel something very important. "Seneca, my wand! It's gone missing!" she cried, her eyes quickly searching the dark ground beneath them (which did very little, because her wand was dark in color).