Suddenly he found himself running, running like a startled cat, running like a fool. Pointed shoes and handsome coattails did not lend themselves well to action, but in dress he was much better off than a maiden, able to fly without obstacle, his body remembering schooldays of Quidditch and earlier days of playing through the trees...

Then finally the passage opened up into a wide corridor, and the agile Bragi stumbled at last, having not expected the transition — he turned to prevent himself from face-planting a stone wall, but his skull met with it instead. It hurt, and he flinched, touching the back of his head gingerly and looking at his fingertips to see red blood, dark in the candlelight.