He yanks the arrow out of his shoulder and keeps walking, unconcerned by the fountain of sparkling black blood that arcs out over the amphitheater and freezes everything it touches - grass, the ground, assorted instruments, unlucky creatures slow to flee. The flow abates after a few seconds, down to a mere gush from a pressurized spray, but in the meantime Isabella is splashed with burning-cold fluid. And Winter has nearly reached her.