Stacia's about to protest that she doesn't know how to fight with a net, but Saturday is too busy fighting for her life to listen. She tries to grasp the net anyway, to help; but it feels filmy and sharp and cold, like a spider web woven from ice and razor blazes. Silver shouldn't feel like this, especially not in her breed form, this is some kind of magical bullshit. She shakes her hands loose and staggers to her feet, lurching after Saturday and the masked women. Her feet steady under her and she shifts back to Crinos, slashing claws at the flowing clothes of the women to distract them and slow them down so that Saturday can catch her breath.

They do not like that, no indeed.