Anyone who hears the scream that tears up through Catra's throat as she all but jumps out of her skin could be forgiven for thinking that Adora had just run her through with a blade.

But it's worse than just one blade. It's hundreds of sharp pricks of cold assaulting her, and she hunches in on herself against it; curling instinctively to protect her stomach and chest and face from the blast. The fur of her back gets soaked through quickly, which is terrible because it didn't need washing at all, and with claws fully extended her hand swipes out in the direction of Adora's leg. They're going to fight again; Catra won't just take this.