Ankyra Sound he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father

It was enough of a trade to earn the stone, and as soon as the man's paw lifted Reyes was nose-diving for it, grabbing at it greedily with his baby teeth. It wasn't a large stone but he wasn't a large boy yet; the stone lodged at an awkward angle between his jaws and prevented him from closing his mouth properly, leading him to salivate mercilessly and dribble spit from either side of his jowels. He did not mind it until he withdrew in the next scampering step, because the boy was suddenly off-balance with the dull weight of the stone and face planted in to the grains of sand. As he rose up again he was sputtering, coated in clingy bits of sand, spitting ugly gobs as if he were surfacing from a near-drowning experience, and the stone was thusly made in to a seed — firmly planted and lost to the grit.

After Reyes spasmed and cleared his face of cling-ons, he hurried to find the stone again. The boy moved like a whirlwind; digging here, digging there, causing the dry topsoil to shift and bury his stone further although he had no way of knowing. Maybe if he hadn't been so greedy for it things would've ended differently. As soon as his mind reached its attention span limit, he plopped back and wailed a note of defeat: nnNnnnaaaAAAaah! Naah no! nono! NO! With a furious stomp of his forequarter the boy lost his balance again and smucked his chest against the dirt, and that's where he sat, glowering and brooding over the lost treasure.