.

    “to ask.  my spirit in Deathe figurehead?”

    “I never kne.  toucone’s gaze, and it  t  must  you out of t Stones. No memory, not seems too long for a rest cure.

    be nearing ty, and the binding resumes . . .”

    “No, Mogget!” exclaimed Sabriel. “I  to knoo knoion  . . .”

    and a star-  tled gargle  came out.

    “too late,” said Mogget. arted cleaning ongue darting out, brig we fur.

    Sabriel sig at turquoise sea, t te-streaked blue. A lig on ao join a squaing near the surface.

    Everyt tang on ink of fisoucone’s grim past, t of Rogir/Kerrigor and th.

    “e so be very careful,” Sabriel said at last, “and  . . .  you said to tooucone?”

    ely w s.

    “ ter preserves us all.”