The wizard was dying, and he knew it. It was slow, but he could no longer ignore that it was happening. On his knees in his workroom, the cold from the flagstone seeping into his bones, Cal wondered who would ever find his bones. After some moments, he was able to heave himself up by the edge of the wood table and stood, breathing, Yes, I'm still breathing, till his heart stopped its murderous thundering.
"Help," he whispered. "Who will help me?" The wizard Cal could not find an answer.
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