---
He wrung out the rag and lifted the coat for the gardener to shake. His ears were calm. His paws were clean. His plan sat in the cloth like a yawn waiting for bedtime.
"I am very sorry, coat," Fizz murmured, because he could not help talking to things. "You did not choose your boy. But you are a very handsome thread. I am feeling sad that you will turn into ashes."
Then Fizz used wind magic to dry the coat. It was very loud.
"You will be quiet," Master Venn said without turning. Fizz nodded and kept his wind magic small instead of all the way.
The brown-haired proctor touched John's elbow and moved him two steps aside. "Statement table," he said, pointing. "Short. Simple. Do not make an excuse. Do not make a speech."
