"Late," was the word Bennet was repeating. "Late, fate, fate is a wheel, turn, turn, turn." Hands tried to stop him, tried to hold him, but he kept moving anyway, ignoring the hands. He had to go.
"Two in one, the spell is done, two in two, the blood runs true." Something was heavy. Heavy, making him slow. What was the heavy? Skin? Something on the gray skin. His mind found the word coat, and his arms shifted, and the coat fell away, with the heaviness holding it back. "Place to be. Late. Place to be, things to see."