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." The king tilted his head back in pain as he
inhaled, and sang in a quavering voice:
"FOR EVERY WRAITH WHO BREAKS HIS FAITH
MUST WANDER WITHOUT CEASE
AND, COLD, PERFORM WHAT HE DID, WARM,
AND NEVER REST IN PEACE.
He coughed, and a hairline of blood ran from the corner
of his mouth. The stag, looking up through filmy eyes, took
up the song for him:
SO, EVERY NIGHT THE STAG BETRAYS
THE LOVE HE COULD NOT KEEP
AND KING AND HOST DESERT THEIR POST
TO HUNT AND NEVER SLEEP.
They finished, singing together. It took them a long
time, since one or the other often stopped to gasp for air,
and it seemed important to them that they finish as one:
AND SO THEY SHALL BETRAY AND HUNT,
UNTIL THE DAY THEY SHOW
THAT THEY SOMEHOW FULFILL THE VOW
THEY BROKE SO LONG AGO."
Done, they collapsed against each other. "Not a bad
song, really," the king said. "Needs a little tightening here
and there, perhaps, fewer cousin-rhymes, but at least it's
something of us left behind."
"True. Many have died with less fame and with worse
poetry." The stag's antlers shuddered painfully back into
place. The stag, eyes upward, lay his head on the king's lap
and stared at the draconian
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