Laertes closes his hand over the light, snuffing it. "This is the only art I know," he admits. "And at first, it went quite hard with me--the spell has not only a word but a shape, a feeling. For what felt like a long time, it was as though I viewed it through a pane of glass, or heard it like a melody from another room. But then Nightingale said something, and it ... shifted. All at once, I could lay my hand upon it."