She seemed to consider this for several long moments. At last, as though finally having fought past repeated hesitation, she said in a rush, "I will know what to do when I am in the presence of the Marsh. It is open to me . . .
"Where mere words are concerned, the experience of it, for such as myself, is ineffable. Were your staff, as you wield it, to become a place, even as it is an extension of yourself, then, and only then, would you understand."
"Only on the surface," he admitted, disturbed by this reminder that they were two very different beings. He felt a pang of fear as he realised that difference meant distinction, in turn implying separation, which, though only an idea, could ever be made fact.
Or could it?
`Different as we are,' he mused, `we are bound as one, our lives interwoven as twin braids that make up a rope, and by such union we are one in heart. It is the mind which now deceives us thus, for to be aware of one's ties to another overmuch is to consider a life lived separate. There is temptation in thought and realisation, for to conceive a possibility is to contemplate the enacting of that possibility.'
And then, it struck him.
`This is what Lily fears! This is what she realised that day while reading in Belloc's library! That a mere whim could make a thought so! And in her case, so making, would cause her excruciating death, by having the very source of her life torn from her!