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. But it was too late. He had seen it and he would see it
always in his dreams, just as he would hear his uncle's
agonized cry forever. Palin's mind reeled and his knees
went limp. Sinking to the ground, he clasped his stomach,
retching.
Then, through the haze of sickness and terror, Palin was
aware of the Queen and knew that she was suddenly aware
of him! He could sense her searching for him, listening,
smelling. . .. He had no thought of hiding. There was
nowhere he could go where she would not find him. He
could not fight, not even look up at her. He didn't have the
strength. He could only crouch in the sand, shivering in
fear, and wait for the end.
Nothing happened. The shadow lifted, Palin's fear
subsided.
"Palin . . . help . . ." The voice, ragged with pain,
whispered in the young man's mind. And, horribly, there
was another sound, the sound of liquid dripping, of blood
running.
"No!" The young man moaned, shaking his head and
burrowing into the sand as though he would bury himself.
There came another gurgling cry, and Palin retched again,
sobbing in horror and pity and disgust at himself for his
weakness. "What can I do? I am nothing. I have no power
to help you!" he mumbled, his fist clenching around the
staff that he held still. Holding it near him, he rocked back
and forth, unable to open his eyes, unable to look. . . .
"Palin"-the voice gasped for breath, each word causing
obvious pain-"you must be
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