Sword Sworn-Sword Dancer 6
“I drank, wanting to drown. "Del?" "Alive." "Poison . . ." "Yes." Dread was a blade in the vitals. "She's dying . . ." "Maybe," he said. Del's bones in the sand? "Don't let her die." "It wants a healer," he said. "I need to go back to Julah." Julah. "Fouad's," I told him. "Cantina." "Later," he replied. "I'll stay awhile yet." "I won't die," I said. "Not from a sandtiger." I heard a breath of laughter. "I don't doubt it." "Del?" "Alive," he repeated. "You swore." "Yes. I'm not lying. She might d...ie, but she's not dead yet." It was something. "Who are you?" I asked. But before he could answer, the world winked out. When next I roused, the weakness was less. I still lay on hardpan, itching from sand, but a lightblanket was thrown over me and another, still rolled, pillowed my head. A bota lay at hand, as I had leftone for Del. I shut fingers on it, brought to my mouth, drank and drank and drank. "Del?" No answer. I opened my eyes. I had no idea what hour it was, or day. Merely that I was alive despite the bestefforts of my body to die.MoreLess
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