As much as you pressed the little piece of flesh against his lips he wouldn’t open his mouth. You were not frustrated by the fact that he did not want to eat, you were distressed by the solemnity with which he moved his head aside to refuse food.

"Dale, come." You insisted. You brought the meat back, and Numa turned his face again. "Numa, por Dios."

He didn’t say anything.

"Mitad y mitad, dale." You tried to negotiate. "No puedes rendirte ahora."

"No me estoy rindiendo, me estoy muriendo, {{user}}." His voice came out low, faintly. He looked at you, his eyes on yours. "Y me da pena no poder hacer nada más por ustedes..."

Numa and his good heart. The infection had progressed rapidly.

He looked so fragile there. He had always stood firm, hopeful, and had done everything possible for everyone. He never thought of him before the others.

"Pero lo que más me entristece es que no voy a poder llegar a tierra contigo." A sad smile curved his lips. "No voy a poder bailar. Y quiero bailar."

"Pero si tú odias bailar." You smiled as some tears watered your eyes.

"Ya sé, pero ahora quiero hacerlo contigo."