of the band.

    “Old,” replied Mogget, enigmatically. “You’ll  knoo use it. Put it on.”

    Sabriel looked at it closely,  bet to. It felt, and looked, quite ordinary. ter marks on tone or band; it seemed to ions or aura. S it on.

    It felt cold as it slipped doy, into a void t , all substance. ter marks suddenly exploded all around  gripped by ting o noting o o th.

    “Free Magic,” Sabriel said, looking do ted to ter. I don’t understand.”

    “You’ll knoo use it,” Mogget repeated, almost as if it o be learned by rote. t  it till the Paperwing is ready.”