The Sentinels wargemont

He had grown a bit impatient as he worked, and almost did not see her pale figure as she coasted near. Her voice roused Renoir out of whatever concentration - or perhaps concern - which held him there. A smile briefly flit across his golden face but when he realized the question, he looked appalled. Non! I would not eat 'dem. Dis is... He wanted to be plain spoken and just say it, it was a grave, and there were many more like it dotting his path. How morbid, though, to speak of such things to a child! A place for 'dem to dòmi. With that he shuffled the last of the pile in to the hole, and began to sift dirt across it.