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“It’s all right, Mama I’m not afraid to die”

I think this will be the last time I wake from the fever My lips are dry and my voice crackles like dry leaves The sickness has stripped the flesh froht of one thin blanket is a torment

Ma intoher red eyes hurts worse that the pain in , except for her; except for my father and brothers and sisters It will hurt them when I leave

This is what happens in our village Discarded ic floats down the river fro and every now and then, soets into the water, you see We’re too poor for anyone to care

“Where is Papa?” I would like to say goodbye to him He can pass onthe little ones away from me in case I make them sick, too

“He’ll be back soon Try to rest”

Back? My eyes roll with effort to theIt’s black around the edges of the ragged curtain and I can hear a strong wind buffeting the walls of the cottage, as if a storh ain, “Where is Papa?”

The front door opens and there are footsteps over the flagstone floor of the kitchen Two sets of footsteps It’s not the doctor He’s been and gone weeks ago saying there’s nothing he can do No one can do anything, and no one would coht because…

“Mama?” I whisper, my terrified eyes locked on the door It opens and I try to scream, but the sound catches in my dry throat

I’m not afraid to die, but I am afraid of him

Meremon, the necro on the threshold wearing a long cloak The hood is up and there’s a black hole where his face should be Maybe he hasn’t got a face I’ve never seen him before but I’ve heard all sorts of terrible stories That he can turn into a raven and eat carrion That he steals wos to theh the village and guts anyone who is abroad with his dagger Sometimes my friends and I will dare each other to walk a little ways up the o in twos and threes, giggling, with our hands clamped over our mouths to muffle the sound After we’ve taken about twelve steps so and laughing down to the village again

It’s only a gaht it was funny

Papa co betweenman “Please, save our Rhona”