until their dying breath
#7
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They were moving. He was being carried. He immediately disagreed with the plan. The saliva dripped slowly from his jaws, but it was there. With his head pressed against the other man's back, he could hear both of their heartbeats. Of course, they did not match. His own was a thunderbird, quick and panicked, pumping too much blood through his body too quickly, perpetuating the disease and rising the temperature of his body. The wolf's, though quicker than normal, was significantly calmer, steadier, and more regular. It was strangely comforting and confused him because there was no reason to be comforted by anything that was happening at the moment.



You're going to catch it, he whispered sadly, wiping something from his mouth and trying to rub it away on his own body. He couldn't really feel his arm when he moved it. His brain prickled, like all of the needles that had been attacking him before had converged to one point. I don't want you to die. A child's words and a child's plea, but really, that's all he'd ever been.

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