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Dungeon 2 - Philip Jose Farmer

Dungeon 2 - Philip Jose Farmer

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Published by: Don Okello Anabouani on Jul 16, 2011
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01/27/2013

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L'Claar

She entered his mind softly, and her touch was like ice on a burn, like water on a
parched tongue, like a candle in a dark room, like the smell of salt water to a sailor
who has been too long inland.

/ am here, brave one, she whispered, as she had so many times now. You are not
alone.

He was getting stronger. When she first came to him he could make no response. It
was only her intuition that had convinced her he was still alive, still—as she put it—
salvageable.

0 venerable one, will you not speak to me?

He had been trying to speak to her for a long time now, but his mina had been driven
past words by the unending pain. He spent the intervals between her contacts trying to
gather words, remember how to use them, find some way to respond.

His greatest fear was that she would give up and not come back. Every time she ended
the contact ne experienced a panic that overwhelmed even the tides of pain that he had
been suffering for what seemed like several thousand eternities.

Frantically he tried to recall the words he had so laboriously assembled after the last
contact. Intimately familiar with dreams, he recognized the fear and frustration he
now felt as a common dream motif: needing desperately to run, yet being unable to
move at a pace any faster than a crawl. The thought was expressed in images and
feelings rather than words.

Words. One word. Who. That was it, the beginning of

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