The Fool and Nighteyes were still near me, but no longer a part of a circle. I could scarcely feel them for all else I felt. Skill. Racing through me like a riptide. Skill. Emanating from Kettle like heat from a smith’s furnace. She glowed with it. She wrung her hands, smiled at the straightened fingers. “You should go and rest now, Fitz,” she told me gently. “Go on. Go to sleep.” A gentle suggestion. She did not know her own Skill-strength. I lay back and knew no more.
