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I need to rest. I will make it, but if I don't, let these words tell my story. The curse came. Most ran - my Ron included. But I'd spent too long in the trenches of this town building up what little I had to let it go. Took what I could in the barrow and followed. I was slower but I made it, nearly. Gods-damned barrow broke but I'm nearly out. Just need one last rest. A breath or two, and to tell my story.