Analysis Of ' Merlin ' By F. Scott Fitzgerald Essay
“Still the middle of the night,” he grumbled, rubbing his sleepy eyes with his fists. And whose voice was that anyway? It definitely was not Kilgharrah’s; Merlin was familiar with the harsh, deep tones of the dragon’s voice when he wished to communicate telepathically. This new voice, one Merlin had never heard before, sounded gentle and feminine, yet desperate.
Help me, please. I do not know what is wrong. I am scared.
Realizing he would never fall back asleep with a voice calling out for help, Merlin ran his long fingers through his mop of black, messy hair, and dressed in his typical outfit: his blue shirt, tan jacket, red neckerchief, and trousers. He closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated, trying to determine from where this voice originated. Often, with telepathic communication, a vision of the speaker’s location came to him. He waited, and the soft voice – pure and clear as a bell, though laced with pain – came again.
I believe I am sick. Will no one help?
Along with the voice flashed an image of the old yew tree beside the pond in the Darkling Woods. It would not be a long walk to reach the pond, but it was late winter now, cold and raw, and Merlin did not look forward to emerging into the black, frosty night.…