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“The poetic word, pageantry, music and spectacle are all mingled to create a spell that is unearthly, and that has the true quality of fairyland. From the first glimpse of gleaming torches literally dancing on a hillside to the final procession of fire marching virtually down a mountain one is some place beyond all actual mundane confines, watching a bewitching processional of romance and of comedy, conjured by a master hand and by an intuition remarkable.”

He did not see, or would not see, that in this rivalry, which he clung to and fostered as part of his own pride, there was anything of the danger, the darkness, of which the Master Hand had mildly warned him.

There were quieter expeditions ashore, other days, with the Master Herbal who taught the ways and properties of things that grow; and the Master Hand taught sleight and jugglery and the lesser arts of Changing.

The Master Hand looked at the jewel that glittered on Ged's palm, bright as the prize of a dragon's hoard.

The Master Hand was a gentle and light-hearted old man, who had endless delight in the wit and beauty of the crafts he taught; Ged soon felt no awe of him, but asked him for this spell and that spell, and always the Master smiled and showed him what he wanted.