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.
Gylar looked up. The boy tried to manage a smile, but
failed. Tears stood in his eyes. Marakion wanted to say
something, some word of comfort, but he knew if he tried
to talk, it would come out choked.
"I have it, Marakion."
I know, Marakion spoke in a voice with no sound.
Clearing his throat, he said again, "I know."
"I'm going to die." The boy's eyes were wide. They
blinked once, twice.
Marakion nodded and lowered his gaze, his boots again
scuffing a trench in the dirt floor. "Yeah," he said.
A different kind of fear entered Gylar's voice.
"Marakion, you have to leave me, now. You have to go."
His teeth chattered. Closing his mouth, he tried again. "You
might have it already, but. . . but maybe not. You have to
go."
Marakion knelt beside Gylar. The man smiled. "You
want to try to make me, kid?"
Gylar was puzzled. "No . . ." His brows furrowed in
confusion. "Make you? No, but, Marakion, if you don't
leave - "
"I'm staying."
"But, sir, I told you what happened to - "
Marakion shrugged. "Do you want to make it to the top
of this mountain?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm staying."
Gylar started to protest, but Marakion cut him off with
a motion of his hand. "You've got heart, I'll give you that,
but you aren't going to make the summit without me." He
smiled expansively. "Even if you try."
Gylar nodded, wanned by the smile. Marakion
suddenly reached out, held the small boy close.
"I'm afraid, Marakion," Gylar whispered, his shaking
hands clinging tenaciously
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