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"... Yay," mutters Ted.

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Promise sighs.

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"I - sorry. I'm sorry, I'm just - grumpy, now. I know you're working on it as hard as you can and you're being much nicer about it than you need to. Thank you."

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"You're welcome. Where do you want me to try to put you, anyway?"

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"A little town called Forks, or - I can give a rough geographical drawing of it if that would be better."

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"The more information the better," says Promise.

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"All right," says Ted, and he gets to explaining Forks in agonizing detail.

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Promise writes down all the information when it's usable. "Two days," she says, "and I can give it a try."

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Ted nods, grimacing. "Thank you."

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"It might work immediately. If it doesn't... then I can try a different target, or I can keep aiming at your town until it works. I don't have nearly enough information to tell you which option gets you to mortal food sooner."

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"Go with whatever seems best," says Ted, softly. "And if I can't manage - then I can't manage, I suppose."

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"Well, it's less work to leave it aimed at a single location. So if you don't prefer that I keep moving it around to see if I get lucky attempting to strand you in Alaska, that's what I'll do."

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He nods. "That - should be fine. I think."

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She nods.

Two days, if you can call them that when the sun is always up in a noncommittal just-post-dawn position making the sky pretty colors, later, she has finished setting up a gate near her tree.



"Harmonic unfriendliness," she says. "We can check it every so often to see if it's locked in, but it's not finding it right away."
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"Okay," murmurs Ted, softly.

He is - not looking good. At all.
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"Let me know when you can't put off food any longer."
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"Yeah. Thanks," he murmurs. "I'm - getting there."

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"Well - sleep a lot, I guess, that might help conserve energy?"

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"'S what I've been doing," he agrees.

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Back to her house they go.

"I'll check it so you don't have to."
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"Thanks."

And then, he curls up and tries to sleep, and not think about how his stomach's eating itself, or wondering how long it will take him to starve, or - various things.

(Worrying about how his father will worry if he - never comes home.)



It takes him about another five hours before he finally, hoarsely says, "... I think if I wait much longer I might... Literally die..."
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"Okay. I'll check the gate, and if it's not - then - I'll come back and give you some juice, okay?" says Promise, gently.

And she nips out -

And comes back, solemn, and pours a glass of juice.
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"Worth a shot," he sighs. "Thanks."

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Promise does her best to help him sit up, and - holds the juice cup to his lips.

"In for a sip, in for the whole pantry, so - go on then."
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Sip, sip.
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