He sputters, drawing his hands up inside his sleeves. His annoyance at having his hands called "little" is short-lived, however; Uriel's sadness is palpable and such a contrast to his thoughtless happiness just a moment before. He gazes at the artificial sunlight, uncomprehending.

Uriel's power is diminished, that much is certain. But why? He recalls the angel having been ill on only one other occasion: immediately after the bombing of Exsilium. Uriel had called it by another name, then.

"Did something happen to Britain?"