The Plain of Accord lay under a deep fresh fall of snow, and in its center, the snow was grey.
Noah came down onto the Firmament's broad shoulder with Ling at his side and the Thinker's great kneeling shape descending behind them. Golden clouds still hung in their ring above the Plain, every throne on them vacant, snow gathering on the seats.
And at the Plain's center lay Poona.
What was left of her filled a hollow in the snow as wide as a village. The vast gleaming slime of every color that had sat on Moriarty's table eating his pastries had been torn open, long ragged rips running through her from edge to edge, and along every one of them, crimson and violet and gold and blue had gone to grey, as though someone had dragged claws through a painting and taken the paint with them. Her one enormous eye was dimmed to the color of old ice and cracked straight down its middle.
The Fiend had taken his time over killing her!
