I remember the feeling. Whenever my father got so absorbed in a book that we might have been in visible I felt like taking a pair of scissors and cutting it up.

There could be few men whose love for a woman had been written on his face with a knife.

And I plan to write a sequel to Dragon Rider.

All books are in safe hands with me. They're my children, my inky children, and I look after them well. I keep the sunlight away from their pages, I dust and protect them from hungry hookworms and grubby human fingers.

Only in books could you find pity, comfort, happiness and love.

It's a cruel world, don't you think?

Dustfinger closed his eyes and listened. He was home again.