Lion Head Mesa Doves and the boy

her jest met no mark. maggie stared up at the vaulted rockglass of her room's walls. "forgive me, cully. yew'll forgiva bit o' sport from a girl afore she dies." this last bit was sounded out with valiant effort. a dehydrated tear traced its way backward toward her tepid ear.
"in me 'ead, sir, somefin' fearful," maggie answered with a sniff. "an' me back, as if someone was pushing a foot through me back, so it were." her eyes were dark-rimmed, accentuating her already pallid nature into something bright-white and fevered.
"yer a doctor then, sir?" the stark gaze rested on the boy.