She was bedridden, her breath a shallow, rasping thing in the dark of her hut.
Enki was at her side, his vast, cosmic knowledge utterly useless. He knew the pathogen's structure, its replication rate, the precise failure of her immune system. But the Divine Interdiction was a fist around his throat. He could not synthesize an antibiotic. He could not explain viral loads. He could only watch.
He applied every herbal remedy he and she had ever discovered, his hands trembling. He cooled her brow with wet cloths. He held her hand.
"Do not… carry this weight," she whispered, her eyes clouded with fever but her love for him perfectly clear. "You were my strange and wonderful gift. My blessing in the hard time. Remember the sweet waters… remember…"
Her voice faded. Her breathing grew slower, more shallow. The greatest healer in Sumer was dying from a simple, stupid fever, and her god-like son could do nothing but witness.