She saw at last her peril and her disadvantage.

If Harold should be killed or disabled she could never reach the earth again, except by means of a fatal fall of several thousand feet.

The enemy witch, with her ingenious cloak contrivance strapped securely about her, stood a reasonable chance of escape.

But our witch was an amateur in War, she was without support, forlornly dressed in her faithful blue serge three-year-old, and her little squirrel tippet.
Magic, as you know, has limitations.

Fire is of course a plaything in magic hands.