The universe is thought, wrapped in rhyme and music, and that’s why the best pilots hold the blood of the Emerald Isle.We know what we are . . . and each time we fly, we have to discover that anew.
For, as a pilot, I have always held to my own two beliefs. First, science is not enough to explain all that is in the wide, wide universe, and without magic, science is as useless as . . . a man without a soul. Second, so long as there are Irish, there will always be an Ireland.
After the med crew rebuilds me, again, I will fly the swan ship that is the Yeats to as many worlds as I can, and must, until I find the Countess Kathryn.
With whom else could a swan pilot trust his found soul?