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." He wiped his nose. "The day after that, it was the
talk of the village. Lutha had died of a strange sickness.
Then her parents died. No one knew how to stop the
sickness. Everybody went into their houses and didn't come
out, but it didn't matter. I'm not sure who died after that,
because Dad closed us up in our house, too. When Rahf
died, my little brother, Mom said it didn't matter anymore
that we stayed in the house."
Gylar sighed again. "It was awful. Hardly anyone was
alive in the village when we came out. We went from door
to door, looking for people. Everyone was in their beds,
shaking with the fever or already dead. I wanted to leave.
Since we hadn't caught it yet, I told Mom we should run
away from it. She shook her head and didn't answer me.
We helped those who had it. We took care of them, but it
didn't matter, just like staying in the house didn't matter
anymore. They were going to die, but Mom said we could
help them. I know now she didn't mean help them live, but
help them to die better. I guess . . .
"Then Dad died." Gylar's voice was subdued. He shook
his head; his cheeks were wet. "He went just like everyone
else, shivering but so hot. I didn't want. . ."
His eyes focused again on Marakion. "He was one of the
last ones to go, then it was my mother. When she died, I felt
so alone, so alone and numb. I could touch something, like
the blanket, or - or her hand, and I wouldn't really feel it. I
had to go. I had to get out."
Gylar looked intently at Marakion
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