Richard Conway, after having done and uppercut from under the snow, comes back down and lays atop a broken corpse. He's panting and heaving, arms shaking from tension. It's stopped. The wight has stopped moving.

They won.

He cranes back his head and takes in the sunshine. For once, he didn't feel like he should immediately slink back into his apartment.

But after a while, he did notice he was standing on something.

He looked down and spotted a dark lump. He narrowed his eyes, and picked it up with his begloved hands.

"Hey, uh. Magic people. What's this thing?"