I came to a dry river. On its banks stood a tree that looked dead, though I noticed a shoot growing, barely visible. A tiny stem with a small, green leaf. I decided that’s where my Circe would rest. I put her down very carefully, and with my aching, useless hands, the hands that had been unable to save her, I began to dig. The earth was hard, like stone, but I didn’t stop until my fingers bled. The hole was deep enough so that no animal would unbury her. I knew the chances were slim because there were fewer and fewer animals, but I would allow no one to touch her. No one could touch her. I
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