The Heartwood Angels are falling from the sky

"I do not know," the witch murmured in answer, still watching the mountain crumble dazedly. She did not know the wolves of Moonspear and could not say whether they had done anything to rile the Daedra. "But I would not put it past him to destroy the peak on a whim, yeah," she drawled wispily in her Bayou accent. "He is one of our darkest gods."

The boom had sparked the conflicted workings of her mind, except these were no colorful hallucinations -- no vivid sparks or morphing swirls of vibrant hues. The shapes that billowed out of the moutain amongst the clouds of smoke were black as ink, writhing in horrible, demonic shapes as they danced into the sky. They cackled and crackled with glee at the ruin below, undulating in jerky movements. The voices of Mehrunes and Mephala sparked towards her from the mess of shattered rock but the words were but tangled snippets lost in the wind. 

"We should investigate," the witch suggested, turning then to see if her night-sister was in agreeance.