His back had a slight sway to it, a curve that spilled to a lovely ass, but at the farthest line of his back, before it became not his back, were dimples. He had knelt down so low that his face, like mine, was almost touching the floor. There was blood on his lips, his blood. That much I could admit to myself.
I thought, It's like he's a living comfort object, like a teddy bear or a penguin, but even as I thought that, I knew it was only partial truth. And then? he asked. We are hoping to bring him back to health, and this will not happen with the silver still in his body. His voice was gentle, as if he understood that I was on the edge.
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