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. He was tense and rigid, his breathing
labored. Raistlin lifted the mug to his lips but began to
cough again, a cough that Amberyl could feel tear at him.
Taking the mug from him, she set it down and held onto
him as he choked and gasped for breath, wrapping her arms
around him as though she would hold his body together.
Her own heart was torn, both in pity for him and his
suffering and with fear for herself. He was so weak! What if
he died?
But, finally, the spasm eased. Raistlin was able to draw
a shuddering breath and motioned for his drink. Amberyl
held it to his lips, her nose wrinkling at the foul smell.
Slowly, Raistlin sipped it. "I wondered if you would
find us here," he whispered. "I wondered if the wizards
would allow you inside the forest."
"I wondered the same myself," Amberyl said softly. "As
for me finding you" - she sighed - "if I hadn't, you would
have found me. You would have come back to me. You
couldn't help yourself."
"So that's the way it is," Raistlin said, his breathing
coming easier.
"That's the way it is. . . ." Amberyl murmured.
"Help me lie down," Raistlin ordered, sinking back
among his blankets. Amberyl made him as comfortable as
possible, her gaze going to the dying fire
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