[There is a rather ungainly thud as a figure lands, hard, on the ground. Pale trembling fingers sink into the soil to push the boy -- no more than sixteen -- onto his hands and knees. He is breathing heavily, a thin sheen of sweat covering his handsome face -- but that glint in his eyes shows a tremendous amount of lifeThin lips purse together as
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[Why are people talking to him? What is this thing? Where is he? Why is his magic gone?]
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Do you need assistance, Tom?
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Think, Tom. Think. Think. Think. Think.
His tone becomes less volatile, more muted. Well-practiced. Necessary.]
... the only assistance I require is the knowledge of where a telephone is located. And --
[A cough as he weakly shoves the rabbit away.]
-- a towel.
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A telephone, I'm afraid, isn't available. But a towel could be arranged.
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[It's faint, but Tom is focused on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Breathing. What a wonderfully asinine bodily function that he took for granted before his entire inner being felt like dying.]
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[Tom is the favorite, after all.]
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[Matter-of-factly.]
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Excuse me?
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And if Tom lacked any class whatsoever, he would say so.]
These spirits have the power to stop time.
[Alexia -- those mad pachyderms. Apparently.]
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They have the power to do a lot of things.
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Remember yourself. Quell your panic. Put on your mask. Deal with reality.]
... you know my name.
What is yours?
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You were here once before. That's how I know you.
[Because he knows it's coming.]
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