“Will they remember?” the boy asked, quietly.
“They will,” replied the satyr.
“And will they miss me,” he whispered, “when I’m gone?”
“Of course.”
Then, for a while, nothing passed between them but the
afternoon breeze until, very softly, the boy asked, “Can you make them forget?”
The satyr hesitated. “Yes.”
Then the boy heard faintly the sound of his new baby sister
crying and realized for the first time the beauty in it.
“Will you?”
“If you ask it, I must.”
“And me?” The boy
turned his head, looked into the dark eyes of the satyr and saw reflected
within them a measure of his own sorrow.
“No,” he said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “For
you, I can do nothing.”
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