Sorcery flowed from Anomander Rake, grainy grey, rolling in a slow wave across the clearing, passing through Whiskeyjack effortlessly, then swallowing Silverfox in an opaque, swirling embrace. The Mhybe cried out, lurched forward, but Korlat’s hand closed on her arm. ‘Fear not,’ she said, ‘he but seeks to understand her—understand what she is …’
