‘Deposed by her brother the now villainous Carabosh of Ind, she The Grace our own and petal-precious Barnelta Wing! Where moves she then in this our second best suite, her Volunteers Slick crated and bound and set to sleep in the hold (that will hold) their ivory splendour. Her laughter you laugh, is laughing at you? Fie, not our Barnelta Wing! Our petal-precious victor of Summarand and defender of Bhul.
‘Courted rejector of unlikely Lords. Swift prickle-promise and learned all from books – so many indeed and carried within her triple locked chest. Therein lie the riches of lands lost to ruin, all set and quite nicely beyond your poor hand.
‘Oh Barnelta Wing, Barnelta Wing...’