There has been a different scent passing nearby; tobacco and coal, smoke, smog, and chemicals, as if a very small factory has a smoking problem. But as the creatures start falling from the sky, that passing presence doesn't just stop, it changes; there are sounds of breaking bone, shifting flesh, loud as gunshots against the night, and then the factory has expanded, in size, in output. Claws scrabble against the frozen ground, approaching rapidly, bringing with them billowing smog, ash, and filth.

Something not enough like a weasel, nearly the size of a horse, barrels ahead of the churning pollution, streaking straight at the star-creature. Its paws end in rusty iron claws; its wiry fur, copper-colored and already wet, is parted by crooked smokestacks that billow colored smog into the air. Its eyes, however, are oddly human, a cloudy blue color and full of fury.

It hits the star-elk that is advancing on Valdis full in the flank and opens a jaw full of hollow needles, crawling with mold and rust, which it uses to pierce the beast. Its gel-like flesh is rapidly sucked away from the bones of its constellation, and as it shrieks in agony, the smokestacks expel a night sky.