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. It had obviously been her work-worn hands that
had composed the body for its final rest. The girl's eyes
were shut, the cold, dead fingers folded across the breast, a
small bunch of roses held in their unfeeling grasp. A candle
shed its soft light upon the young face whose incredible
beauty was enhanced by a sweet, wistful smile upon the
ashen lips.
"Amberyl!" cried one of the strangers brokenly, sinking
down upon the bed and taking the cold hands in his.
Coming up behind him, the other stranger laid a hand upon
his companion's shoulder.
"I'm truly sorry, Keryl."
"We should have come sooner!" Keryl muttered,
stroking the girl's hand.
"We came as quickly as we could," his companion said
gently. "As quickly as she wanted us."
"She sent us the message - "
" - only when she knew she was dying," said the
companion.
"Why?" Keryl cried brokenly, his gaze going to
Amberyl's peaceful face. "Why did she choose to die among
. . . among these humans?" He gestured toward the cook.
"I don't suppose we will ever know," said his
companion softly. "Although I can guess," he added, but it
was in an undertone, spoken only to himself and not to his
distraught friend. Turning away, he walked over to a cradle
that had been hastily constructed out of a wood box
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