seven
The others were a strange bunch of creatures, even to Jadwiga, who had been sure that nothing could startle her anymore. Some were like the Teacher, shades so old that even their shining bones were beginning to fade away. They spoke in whispery voices that floated away before Jadwiga could begin to catch their words.
“I can’t understand them,” she told the Teacher as quietly as she was able, not wanting to offend the shades.
“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “They speak because they remember speech, not because they have anything to say. Someday, they will forget speech as well.”
He pointed to the wall, where flat shadows moved in senseless, silent patterns.
“Will you?” she asked. That thought hurt, though she knew that it should not. The part of him that was truly him was alread
