Unbearability

 'I cannot breathe,' the specter shouted. 'I cannot bear the weight.' It never bear more than an ounce on a good day.

'It does not seem that something so horrible should be able touch us here,' the faerie sighed. Then flinched.

'I cannot carry the burden any longer,' noted the witch. It was said as a matter of fact.

'The wind has changed,' said the girl. She raised her finger raised toward the wind.

The curious party looked at her finger. They raised their eyes to the sudden breeze.

'That is a small way of putting it, child,' said the witch. She had crinkling eyes. Very few noticed that they twinkled.

'Small indeed,' said the faerie, her face turned up. Her nose was button-like. Most noticed that much.

'I suppose I don't breathe. Usually. As a matter of course,' the specter noted.

'It always turns. Just before the worst of it,' the girl said.

'Not always,' the witch warned.

'Always,' the girl said. Her confidence struck and the bell tolled.

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