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He
was
thin,
so
emaciated
that
his
bones
seemed
to
threaten
to
slice
through
the
skin.
The
once
bright
eyes
were
dimmed
and
sunken,
a
thin
film
covering
them.
Pustules
marked
his
skin,
bursting
and
oozing
forth
a
green
fluid.
Breathing
seemed
difficult
and
the
child’s
chest
hitched
in
little
panting
gasps.
The
man
thought
he
could
almost
see
the
labored
thumping
of
a
heart
that
should
have
faltered
long
ago,
but
persisted
in
continuing
to
beat.
"He
is
still
here,"
the
orc
said,
stabbing
a
finger
in
the
boy’s
direction.
"He
will
not
last,"
the
man
said.
As
if
to
confirm
the
words,
the
boy
began
to
cough.
Blood
and
mucus
spattered
the
table
in
front
of
him,
and
he
wiped
a
thin
arm
clad
in
rotting
finery
across
his
pale
mouth.
He
drew
breath
to
speak
in
a
halting
voice,
the
effort
obviously
taxing
him.
"You
have
not
yet
won
him.
And
I
will
prove
it
to
you."
"You
are
as
foolish
as
you
are
stubborn,"
the
orc
growled.
"That
battle
was
won
long
ago."
The
man’s
hands
tightened
on
the
arms
of
his
chair
as
he
listened
to
both
of
them.
This
had
been
a
recurring
dream
over
the
last
few
years;
he
found
it
now
more
tiresome
than
entertaining.
"I
grow
weary
of
the
struggle.
Let
us
end
this
once
and
for
all."
The
orc
leered
at
the
boy,
his
skull
face
grinning
hideously.
The
boy
coughed
again,
but
did
not
quail
from
the
orc’s
regard.
Slowly,
with
dignity,
he
straightened,
his
milky
eyes
darting
from
the
orc
to
the
man.
"Yes,"
the
orc
said,
"this
serves
nothing.
Soon
it
will
be
time
to
awaken.
Awaken,
and
move
forward
into
this
world
once
more."
He
turned
to
the
man,
his
eyes
gleaming.
"Walk
again
the
path
you
have
taken."
