The wooden collar around Prince Kael's throat did not just tighten; it began to twist, its calcified bark fibers grinding against his small larynx with a dry, hydraulic force that threatened to splinter his neck bone. The Cradle-Snare had realized its error. It could no longer digest the dense, silver-gold alloy of the boy's blood, nor could it siphoning the solar grace that he had walled behind his newly awakened lunar anchor.
So, it chose to crush him.
