But it would be too risky. He had been baptized there. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. Melusine tapped on it. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. “Indeed, you could have no more faithful friend, you could find no one more anxious to serve you. I was one of the few. There was a young lad ahead of her. Blueskin, you are a true friend. His initial nervousness had already abated, and it took some valour to allow himself to become embroiled in Melusine’s crazy schemes. You're an angel of goodness. When he was up and about, the idea of flight would return.
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