[The video clicks on to a familiar pale face looking rather upset.]

Múinteoir, something's wrong. She's not getting better, and I don't know what to do. I am no healer...

[She whirls, her hair lashing the lens, to scamper into the wolf den. The narrow tunnel opens into a wide, shallow, low-roofed cave of sorts, the light from her screen just enough to make out the shapes of Banríon curled around her youngest daughter. The pup is from the most recent litter, the smallest of the three, and she... doesn't look good. Her mother is cleaning her fur, but she's thin and bedraggled and shivering, but panting as though she's overheated. When Aisling touches the little one's face, her eyes open, but they're glazed and glassy. She barely responds when the sprite tries to get her to drink some water. Finally she drinks a few drops by licking the water from Aisling's fingers before letting her head fall back to the dust, clearly exhausted.

Banríon whines softly, nosing her daughter and then looking beseechingly to Aisling, who looks extremely troubled. Taking up her phone again, she creeps outside, speaking low.]

I would be grateful if you might come see her. Please, I have done all I can. I don't think this is natural.

I have eight rather large boxes of various fireworks and I will be behind the school with them on the sports field starting now until midnight.

If you want to help me set off explosives, that's where to go.