Transportation was never an exact art, but the layers of protective spells Hecate worked into her charms acted like a beacon through the mist. The pull of a soul in need and the pull of belief saw her through, even if it was desperate belief, it still sang.
There were no atheists in foxholes, after all.
Hecate staggered under the sudden change in temperature - the heat of packed in bodies - and the sudden change in volume - her voice had been the loudest thing in her ears, and now the music and the jeering of two score male voices took over instead.
And Luna's screaming, muffled beneath a strong hand.
And Ares lording it over all of them.
Hecate put out a hand to part the crowd, grabbing onto the shoulder of the nearest young man to shove him aside - she met his eye - the boy who'd been raising the pups, the one with the ghost and the bad vibes - but didn't waste any more than a withering glare at him before charging forward to plant herself between Ares and the men holding Luna.
"Stop this right now, Ares, or I will," she commanded, as one of the men reached out to grab her - and yelped moment his hand touched her body. He pulled his hand back, the palm blackened as if he'd tried to grab a flaming torch instead of a woman.