thought of seeing you shot. I want us to be together or not at all.''
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"Then you go first." I put her in front of me.
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She looks at the ground, ashamed. "I'm afraid to, I don't look so good as you do."
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"I'll go first, then, Danka. I'll go with my head straight up and you go very close behind me. That way they'll be blinded by me and think you don't look so bad at all." She doesn't look bad, she has lost flesh but her face is prettier than mine; still, she does not have that sparkle in her eyes which says, I'm going to live.
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"Okay, you go first. I'll be braver if I can keep my eyes on you."
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I open my hem, pulling out the treasure I found last night and have been protecting from the elements for over ten hours. "Give me your face." Opening the chickory wrapper up, I lightly paint her cheeks. The dye from the paper adds a blush to her pallor. Spitting on my fingers, I blend it in so it looks natural and step back amazed at the instant transformation. "Beautiful. You look a picture of health now, Danka."
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I take a little more mud and trace my finger along the cut. "It's healing very well," I assure her.
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"Yes. You look very good indeed." We edge closer. "Don't watch the others, just tell yourself that you will fly over that ditch into my arms. That's all you need to think." I turn my back to her, leaving my hand behind me to hold hers until the last possible moment.
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We don't have far to go; twenty, maybe thirty girls stand in front of us. The girl in front of me turns around. "You're going to make it," she says in Slovakian.
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I stumble for words of encouragement but am at a loss. "You will too."
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"Please take this." She takes my hand, passing something cold
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